Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall
by sonofanarchy
Summary: Sammael Grant, the Courier, sets out on a search for lost technology but quickly gets more than he bargained for. Violence, mild swearing. Please read and review.
1. Introduction

**NOTE: I don't own any of the source material, only my original characters. All source material is owned by their respective copyright holders.**

_The Second Battle for Hoover Dam had come and gone, with only one clear victor. The Courier, with his army of Securitrons, wiped the Legion from the Mojave and pushed the NCR back west. New Vegas would remain independent and a place where fortunes could be won and lost in the blink of an eye…_

_The Legion scattered back east into Arizona. Leaderless after the deaths of Caesar and the Legate, they began to fight among themselves as several different warriors attempted to gain control. The fighting was brutal, even by their standards, and none that entered Arizona were heard from again._

_The NCR, despite being unhappy with events, created an alliance with the Courier. They kept their embassy on the Strip but were forced to leave Camps McCarran, Golf, Guardian, Searchlight and Forlorn Hope. Companies, such as the Crimson Caravan, were also allowed to continue operating and the Mojave provided them with many new opportunities, both within and beyond Nevada._

_The Brotherhood used the battle as an opportunity to re-capture HELIOS One but, with their newfound truce, they allowed the NCR to leave peacefully. Shortly after their patrols began appearing on major roads, harassing travellers over technology deemed "inappropriate". While the Courier did not like this, he allowed it to continue under the condition that the Strip and Freeside continue to be supplied with power from the solar station. Veronica stayed with them, helping to promote the relationship between the Brotherhood and the Courier, though she would forever feel a distance between her and the only family she had ever known._

_Super Mutant attacks lessened following the discovery of the cure for the Nightkin schizophrenia. Jacobstown became a beacon for mutants everywhere, especially after Tabitha and Rhonda disappeared into Arizona and left Black Mountain uninhabited. Marcus and the Courier became friends, and he spent many a night regaling the Courier with tales of the Chosen One…and even a few of the Vault Dweller, among others._

_Freeside remained much the same. The relationship between the Courier and the King was so strong that the Kings were named as the official caretakers of Freeside, a role they took very seriously. Old Mormon Fort also continued its work, despite several of its members leaving following the battle. They would later meet up with the Great Kahns in Wyoming and begin carving out a new empire._

_Arcade found himself torn between two duties; to his new family in the Mojave and to his old Enclave life. With the Remnants disappearing he became stuck in an emotional limbo, using the knowledge and technology he had gotten from them to help the Followers and Freeside but always feeling a certain distance between him and those he tried to help._

_Boone, having come to peace with the death of his wife and the events of Bitter Springs, became a scout and caravan guard under the employ of the Courier. While a part of him wished to rejoin his old unit, he found himself unable to leave the land of his wife._

_Cassidy began trading again, heading as far north as New Canaan. She never saw the Courier again and she spent many nights awake, wondering where he was and what he was doing. It was her only regret when the end came._

_Raul came to terms with his age but moved on regardless. The Courier never saw him again, but heard tales of a ghost that haunted the plains of Oregon, dispensing justice to the evil strong. They always made him smile._

_Chief Hanlon retired, frustrated at the pointlessness of the Mojave campaign. With the NCR Rangers gone the Desert Rangers began once again and, in union with both the Courier and the Brotherhood, patrolled the roads that crisscrossed the countryside. They were a bastion of hope for wastelanders everywhere, which still regarded the Brotherhood and Securitrons with suspicion or disdain._

_With relative peace across the Mojave, the Courier found himself with nothing left to do. Yes Man took care of the day to day duties and the Courier found himself getting restless, dreaming of another war. Luckily (or unluckily) for him, one was just arriving on his doorstep…_


	2. Strange Requests

The bourbon was finely aged, a drop that Cass had given him following Hoover Dam. He watched it elegantly splash against the side of the glass as he poured, looked deep into the brown liquid trying to remember all of the forgotten memories he had lost to it. As it reached the half way point of the glass he tipped back the bottle and did the same for the second glass, handing the first to his guest.

The man had came to New Vegas 3 days ago. He had asked for an audience but Samael, the Courier, was a cautious man and so had denied the request. The man stayed around though, spending his days holed up in his room in Vault 21. It was on the 3rd day, and when Samael's boredom had got the better of him, that he invited the man up to the Lucky 38. Ofcourse, he also had 6 Securitrons in the room.

"An impressive show of power" commented the man as he looked at the Securitrons. Slowly he put the glass to his lips and took a sip. He sighed contendedly as the whiskey travelled down his throat.

"I am a cautious man" said Sam with a friendly, but fake, smile.

"That's not the way I hear it" said the man with a laugh, "destroying the Legion and taking on the NCR? That takes balls"

"Balls and caution aren't mutually exclusive" replied Sam.

"True that" answered the man, taking another sip, "but it's not often you find both..." he said, trailing off as he looked out the window behind Sam. They were located in Mr House's former room, a level Sam had made his "office", and even he had to admit the view was impressive. He wasn't surprised the man would take a moment to soak it in so he stayed silent. It gave him a chance to size the man up as well.

He was an older man, with poorly hidden flecks of grey beginning in his hair. His face was relatively wrinkle free, however. His clothes, a dirty Duster, dark shirt and well worn pants, showed that he was a veteran of the wastes. Or hadn't found the laundry room in Vault 21, Sam thought. Still, while he looked rough, Sam didn't get the feeling that he was evil. In fact, the man reminded him a little of Boone in that regard. After a moment he loudly cleared his throat.

"I'm sure you didn't come here just to look out my windows and drink my whiskey..." he said.

The man smiled. "Of course, how rude of me" he said, "although if I'd known how good the whiskey was I might have come earlier" he laughed, "but down to business...I have an offer"

"Lots of men have offers" replied Sam, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms, "what's special about yours?"

"How many promise you caches of old world technology?"

"A lot, actually" Sam admitted.

The man looked a little surprised at Sam's answer, but he began to reach into his coat. The Securitrons snapped to attention and Sam reached under the desk, putting his hand on the shotgun he had strapped there, the twin barrels pointed right at where the man was sitting. He stopped moving and smiled at the Securitrons.

"Just some paper" he said, pulling out his hand to reveal a folded piece of paper in his hands. Sam waved the Securitrons off and they stood down. He also took his hand off the shotgun and grabbed the piece of paper as the man handed it to him.

It was a corner of something, with black edges suggesting the rest had been burnt off. There was some writing on the right, which described several items and their respective item numbers but not actually what they were. The rest of the paper looked like a map of some kind, with some topographic lines telling Sam whatever this was, it was located in fairly flat land. Finally, there was a small symbol in the top right corner, a vault symbol with the number 16 printed on it.

Sam looked up, not convinced. "This is...?"

"A part of a map to Vault 16" said the man, as if that was enough to convince Sam. When he saw Sam's look of disbelief, he said "You don't know about Vault 16?"

"No I do not"

"It's a legend, a place that contains some of the best of pre-War technology. Nobody knows where it is...except me" he said.

"Isn't that convenient" muttered Sam sarcastically.

"I was paid as part of a salvage crew. We got there and I saw the Vault, some of what it contained...it's incredible" he said, awe-inspired.

"And let me guess...you had to kill the others for the map?"

"What? No!" he said, angrily, "he would only show us the first level, but even that was enough to fill up our pack beasts and then some. It was when we were leaving..." he started, trailing off as he travelled back into his memories, "...raiders attacked us. Maybe a rival prospector, I don't know. I managed to get the map but most of it was burnt off before I got away"

"And then you came here?"

"No...I travelled for a long time, even found some more information about the vault. Nothing concrete, but order forms for some big machines. Whatever is down there, it has the ability to change the wastes. Interested yet?"

"Perhaps...why me though? Why not the NCR, or the Brotherhood, or the million other groups who want power over the wastes?"

The man looked away, but this time he wasn't looking at anything in particular. "I've met people like that before...this technology isn't for anyone. The ancestors hid it for some reason and, although I don't know what it was, I assume that the power was too great even for them"

"And you're giving it to me?"

"You fought for independence against an army of savages and a republic of tyranny. You brought down a 200 year old genius who would have put this land under his heel...I've always believed that this technology was meant for someone special. When I first heard about you, I knew you were that person..." he trailed off again, as tears began to well in his eyes, "this has been my life...and has cost me several others. I want to finish this, before it's too late..." he finally finished. He wiped the tears from his eyes, realised he still had a quarter glass of whiskey and downed it all in one go.

Sam leaned forward. Emotions like this weren't common in the wastes. They showed a weakness that could be exploited, and so nobody ever showed them. For this man to be so open...either he was genuine, or a perfect actor. Sam took another look at the map. On any other day he would have turned the man down and forgotten him as just another crazy prospector on a wild goose hunt, but today? Today he was feeling compassionate and, he had to admit, bored.

He stood and offered the man his hand. "Samael Grant" he said, "the Courier"

The man looked at him and smiled, before getting to his feet and shaking his hand "Oswald Lucius, but I prefer Oz" he said, "so are you saying yes?"

"I'm saying maybe" said Sam, "but while I think about it you'll be given a room in the 38. These Securitrons will take you to it and I'll have someone pick up your things from the Vault"

"No need" he said, waving his hand dismissively, "this is all I've got" he tugged at the sleeves of his duster, attempting to get some of the dust off.

"Right"

"Ok, till we meet again" said Oz. He did a short bow, smiled cheekily and then made for the elevators with two of the Securitrons following him.

"Wait!" called Sam. Oz turned and the Securitrons parted, letting him back through. "You never told me what you wanted from this?"

Oz smiled again, but this time it was more of a grim smile. "That part's easy...you just have to promise, when this is over, that you'll kill me"

With that he turned and got on the elevator, the doors closing with a hiss behind him.

* * *

Dustan had come to New Vegas like so many others; with a pocket full of hard earned caps and a head full of dreams of riches. But unfortunately he left like so many others as well, with no money and a crushing depression the only things driving him home. All he had left was 1 cap, his "lucky" one, which he felt like tossing in to the river at this point.

He wasn't a large man and had spent almost a quarter of his caps buying security for the initial journey. But now, with no money, he had been terrified that he would be attacked. He had done his best, staying on all of the major roads where the Securitrons patrolled, even sleeping on them at times and he was only a day out from his town of Ely when he got sloppy.

The small valley had looked like a clear shortcut and would have cut nearly 12 hours from his journey. Unfortunately for him, it was also the home of a Cazador. The creature had chased him out to the road and then some, eventually catching up to him and jabbing it's stinger into the back of one of his legs.

He collapsed in pain and it circled around to attack him again. He tried to get into a ball but the leg that was stung had swollen straight. He squeezed his eyes shut and hid his head in his arms.

Suddenly he heard a shot, then another. He opened his eyes to see the Cazador lying a few metres from him, two smoking holes in it's carapace. A man appeared, wearing jeans and a strange leather jacket with the face of a wolf embroidered on the back. His skin was tanned, his arms were fairly muscled and he carried a rifle in his hands and a pistol strapped to his thigh. He crouched down next to the Cazador, his back to Dustan, and pulled a large knife from a sheath on the back of his pants. He began cutting in to the dead animal, Dustan guessed to try and harvest it.

"Oh...thank you, thank you!" he said gratefully, tears streaming down his face. The man's back stiffened and he turned, a look of mild surprise on his face. It was a rough face, with several small scars, but it was his eyes that were the most interesting; his iris' were white and they gave him an etheral quality.

"You survived?" he said, his voice mirroring the surprise on his face. Dustan merely nodded, still crying tears of joy. He began to think about that Mary, about how he had kept telling himself he was going to talk to her but never did. Now he sure as hell was! He leant back, still overjoyed at his brush with death. He was staring up at the clouds and closed his eyes, soaking in life in general; the wind on his face, the sun on his skin. Everything made him feel alive.

He didn't see the man take out his pistol, nor did he hear the shot or feel the bullet as it exited his head with most of his brains. And he especially didn't feel the man go through his clothes to find he had nothing but a single cap on him, not even worth the bullet used to kill him.

The man pocketed the cap and turned back to the Cazador.

"Might as well get something" Isaac said to himself and he plunged the knife back into the dead insect, smiling at the squelching noises it made.


	3. The Other Side

**NOTE: I don't own anything but original characters. And please, PLEASE, if you read this write a review. I'm looking for any kind of feedback. Thanks =]**

**

* * *

**

**Stand to Eagle, come in Eagle**

_Eagle here_

**Do we have confirmation?**

_Affirmative Stand, Raven Rock is completely destroyed._

**How?**

_Initial scans reveal the base's reactors went critical._

**Cause?**

_Can't tell, but the only one with direct access to them appears to have been the ZAX_

**What about survivors?**

_Unknown, sir. None answered our calls and hostile forces are heavily present in the surrounding areas, so assume all members of the east coast mission are KIA._

**And the Chicago branch?**

_Unknown as well Stand. Did not respond to attempts at communication on any known frequencies. Encountered hostile forces while attempting a flyover, was forced to abort._

**Very well Eagle, return to base.**

_Affirmative Stand, returning to base._

_

* * *

_

Steven took a drag of his cigarette and looked over at Paul, the other man on guard. He was also smoking and the pair's helmets were lying beside their feet. Both men were in their black power armour suits.

"I don't even know why we have to guard this place" complained Paul, "the only ones that use it anymore are Abercrombie and his boys"

Steven just nodded, unsure of whether to say anything. Abercrombie didn't take kindly to people breaking regulations and he assumed complaining was in there somewhere. Abercrombie also had a habit of sneaking up on people, so Steven was always careful about what he said when there was even the slightest chance it might be overheard.

Still, he had to admit Paul had a point. The path they were guarding was the only one that directly led to the Enclave bunker known as the Stand. The door they were sitting in front of led directly to the vertibird hangar, but like Paul had mentioned nobody but a select few used this route anymore.

The base was self reliant in most aspects, using geo-thermic energy to power its machinery, to go along with a large wealth of hydroponics and an underground stream and water scrubber to provide the basic necessities of life. But for the rare times that people had to leave there was another secret entrance that lead to a fully built and operated Rattler ranch, a perfect cover, and most preferred that to the harsh wind that normally swept this other path.

And when Steven thought even further, this path was hidden behind a fake wall as it was. So unless someone specifically knew it was there, they wouldn't be able to find it anyway. He sighed. There was no point thinking about it. Guarding pointless paths was just a fact of his rather boring life.

He got brought back to reality when Paul nudged him and pointed down the path. Squinting, Steven saw the outline of a man approaching. It was a large man, wearing a duster over black armour. His hair was long, dirty but tied neatly into a pony tail and he had several scars crisscrossing his face and, likely, his body as well.

"It's Abercrombie!" hissed Steven. Both men frantically threw their cigarettes onto the ground, stamped them out and picked up their rifles. As Abercrombie came closer, both men snapped to attention, both stiffly saluting.

Abercrombie stopped just in front of the two, looking them both up and down. As he saw their helmets on the ground his face turned into a scowl and he continued on, not bothering to salute back.

Paul sighed with relief and pulled out another cigarette. "I thought he was going to rip us a new one for sure" he said, lighting it with a small lighter. Steven just nodded, watching as a vertibird came hurtling back over the mountains and disappeared behind an outcrop, into what Steven knew was the hangar. He pulled out a cigarette of his own.

"Toss me your lighter" he said.

Paul laughed. "He finally speaks!" he said, but quickly handed the lighter over. Steven lit his cigarette, handed the lighter back and stared up into the darkening sky wondering when, or rather if, his life would ever change.

* * *

Abercrombie punched his code into the keypad next to the door, which hissed open as he pushed enter. He was angry at _another_ break in protocol from the guards at the entrance. Was it really that hard to keep a freaking helmet on?

In fact, he could track all of the Enclave's troubles to breaks in protocol. They had left the tanker, an obvious unauthorized way aboard the Rig, untouched for years when they should have tied that loose end from the very beginning. They should have destroyed the NCR as soon as it appeared that they could be a threat. And they definitely should not have had a ZAX in control of Raven Rock. The rules clearly stated that only human personnel were to have control over military assets.

He realised the irony too, as he stalked through the hangar bay in his combat armour and duster. _He_ should have been in power armour, as a ranking official and squad leader, but his squad was irregulars and he refused to let another member of his squad wear lesser armour then himself. Just another reason to be annoyed with Hannibal, he thought to himself.

He strode through the hangar at a fast pace, briefly aware of a Vertibird landing to his right. He knew who it would be but hoped the man would just ignore him.

"Abey!" someone shouted.

Abercrombie sighed and turned, seeing a man hopping out of the recently landed Vertibird. He was a small man, someone not suited to combat work, but he made an excellent pilot. His leather jacket looked like a tight fit and he had big dark goggles over his eyes, his roughly cut blonde hair falling over them ever so slightly. But the worst part was the giant grin he had on his face. He knew him as Eagle, although whatever his real name had been Abercrombie had never known. He had to admit the man was a hell of a pilot, even despite his rather annoying behaviour.

"How you been Abey?" he said, walking over and giving the military leader a slap on the arm. Abercrombie grunted a barely audible answer. "Oh, me too" he said, sighing. He looked sad for a moment, then his smile came back. "But hey, that's life right!"

Abercrombie didn't have time for this. He turned and walked away without another word but Eagle obviously didn't take the hint, following closely behind.

"So...you going to see the General?" he asked. Abercrombie nodded, "Me too! Funny that. He said he wanted to see me for something special. What do you think it is?"

Abercrombie shrugged, trying to end the conversation by not saying anything. Clearly it didn't faze Eagle.

"I hope it's something to do with you. Wouldn't that be awesome? Us, working together?"

The thought almost drove a shiver up Abercrombie's spine, and he was a seasoned veteran.

It didn't take the pair long to get through the hangars and into the military offices. They were located just outside the hangar, in between it and the civilian and research areas. Originally they had been on the other side of the base but, after several complaints, they had been moved. Why soldiers had bowed to civilians was beyond Abercrombie, but then he wasn't in charge.

The General's office was off to the right, isolated enough to give him privacy but not enough to make it hard to get too. As they approached a large guard was standing outside.

"You're late" he grunted, looking at Abercrombie.

Abercrombie knew who he was, at least by reputation. Sundiata Barger was the man the General used for all his dirty work, a towering hunk of flesh that rivalled even the legendary Long Haul Grimlock in size. Considering Grimlock was half machine, that was quite an impressive feat.

"He in there?" he asked. The giant nodded. Abercrombie headed in.

Apparently Eagle tried to follow, but Barger stopped him. "One at a time" he said, his deep voice echoing off the metallic walls.

The General's office was heavily furnished, with bookcases across every wall stuffed with pre-War books in good condition. His large desk dominated the centre of the room; it had a computer terminal on it, but he was busy reading a written report.

He looked up as Abercrombie entered, then continued reading. "You're late" he said in a condescending tone, as if he expected better. Abercrombie's anger began to boil back up to the surface. "Your report?"

Abercrombie stared at him for what felt like an hour. The old man had wrinkles over every spot of his face and yet still managed to radiate power. He was still in good condition, considering his advanced age, but there was no hiding his grey hair. Abercrombie actually doubted that he did. The fact that he could accept something like that made him seem even more powerful for some reason. He was also wearing his reading glasses.

Abercrombie reached in to his pocket, pulled out an item and tossed it onto the desk. It cluttered across it noisily. Slowly the General looked up at him, then down at what was now sitting right underneath his nose on the desk.

"And this is?"

"Dog tags" answered Abercrombie, "Diesel's tags. A Deathclaw ripped him to pieces"

"Ah" said the General, "Such a shame" he finished, turning back to the report.

No sorries, no signs of remorse. It took Abercrombie every fibre in his body to hold back his rage.

"My man died attempting to complete this pointless mission" he said through clenched teeth, unable to control himself.

The General looked up, a slightly amused look on his face.

"Pointless?" he questioned, "You do understand that our military needs far exceed our current population?"

"Yes, but-" Abercrombie started.

"And that the Deathclaws provide an interesting opportunity to bolster said military needs?"

"Yes...sir" Abercrombie added, remembering protocol. The General nodded.

"Then your mission isn't pointless. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your man" Of course, Abercrombie knew he couldn't have cared less, "but I called you here for a report"

"I have several men stationed outside the cave" said Abercrombie, "when they come out my men will capture them"

"You didn't go in?"

"Diesel did, sir. That's how he died"

"Sacrifice is necessary to pave the way for success" said the General absently, as if quoting someone else.

"I did not feel it prudent to risk further military assets considering our...situation, sir"

The General smiled, obviously aware of Abercrombie turning his own logic against him. "And all your men are there?"

"No, most are at one of our safe houses"

The General hummed and turned his attention back to the report.

"I'm disappointed you didn't come through, but no matter. We have a new assignment for you anyway"

"Sir?"

"We'll brief you tomorrow. Tonight you'll stay here. Rest, recuperate, say hello to old friends, you know, what _normal_ people do" he said, emphasising the word normal as if Abercrombie was some kind of freak. Which he and his irregulars, who spent most of their time off base, must seem like to the general population.

"What about my men?"

"I assume they can survive one night on their own" answered the General. Abercrombie nodded. The pair sat in silence for a few minutes. "You're dismissed" he finally said. Abercrombie snapped a crisp salute and left, not waiting for the General to return it.

Eagle was waiting outside. "How was it?" he asked, but Abercrombie shoved him out of the way and kept walking, heading for the barracks to find himself a bunk. "I guess I'll see you around!" Eagle called after. Abercrombie didn't bother to turn around.

He signed in to the barracks and was taken to small room. The officer that took him there apologised that there wasn't anything bigger, anything befitting an officer, but Abercrombie just waved him off. The last thing he cared about was the size of his room.

He honestly couldn't understand why the General's reaction had troubled him so much. He knew, right down to his bones, that the man wouldn't care about Diesel, so why had he expected different? Maybe, he thought, because that's how I feel?

Diesel had been a lifer, a seasoned veteran in the Enclave. Abercrombie had ordered him in first because he thought his experience would keep him safe, something that obviously didn't work out as he had planned. He had lost a good friend but the fact that the men above, the General and the Council, didn't even seem to care almost drove him to insanity. Why are we fighting, if not for our people? he thought angrily.

He spun and punched a wall locker located at the end of the bed. He punched it again and again, leaving a large dent in it and blood running down his arm as he split his knuckles open. His anger and energy spent, he stepped wearily over to the bed and collapsed onto it.

A new assignment, he thought, probably some other pointless crap that leads to nothing. Eventually sleep found him as he travelled back through his memories, remembering the times he had with Diesel.

* * *

Farilla DuShon lay back, sighing contently. As the General's wife she had many perks, but none so fine as this.

"Ready for another round?" asked the man lying next to her in the rather large bed her husband had gotten them. She smiled broadly at him.

"Get out" she ordered sweetly. The man looked confused at first but, when her expression didn't change, he picked up his clothes and left, grumbling to himself all the way. She sighed again as she realised life was good. The General was away so much that he either didn't know or didn't care about her transgressions and she found that sleeping with the various different members of the Enclave provided a rather stimulating way to pass the time. It wasn't hard to get their attention either, as she was stunningly attractive and knew exactly how to use it. Even the women couldn't escape her sway, although she only went after them on the rare instances when she was really bored, wanted to take the woman down a peg or was heavily drunk. Sometimes even when she was all three.

Her room was heavily decorated, with fine silk wares left over from before the War as well as several knick knacks the General had procured from the Wastes. It made her feel important, but ultimately she felt they held little significance. Insecure attempts to buy her loyalty from a man that ultimately didn't care. Still, she thought they were pretty so she kept them around.

She looked up at the ceiling at the mirror that covered the roof above the bed, staring intently at her reflection's eyes. They asked her the same question they always did; when is this life going to change? When will the emptiness be filled?

Usually she could answer it with a witty remark or something similar, but this time she felt different. She continued to stare at her reflection and began to wonder...when, or rather if, her life would ever change.


	4. Agreements

"And you trust him?"  
"Of course I don't" Samael answered Boone, "but what other choice do I have?"  
"You could not go" he answered, as if it was obvious. Samael shook his head.

"What he's promising has too much value. Can you imagine...something that could change the Mojave completely?"

"But what's his price?" asked Boone. Samael froze, unsure how to answer it. Oz's strange request of being killed had left him with an even stranger taste in his mouth and he had refrained from telling anyone else.

"It's worth the risk" answered Samael absent-mindedly, hoping that would do. Boone looked unconvinced. "Look, if I don't come back Yes Man knows you're in charge"

"Me?" questioned Boone, more surprised than Samael had ever heard him.

"Yes?"

"No...give it to Veronica, or Arcade, or Cassidy...but not me..." he said solemnly. Samael put his hand on Boone's shoulder.

"You're a good man" he said with a friendly smile, "We all know you'll do Vegas proud"

"I think you're the only one" muttered Boone, but he nodded nonetheless.

Samael turned his attention back to his pack. He already had a few changes of clothes packed, along with a few packets of Rad-Away, a bottle or two of Rad-X, about a dozen Stimpacks and even a box or two each of Mentats and Buffout. He had considered taking something for fighting, like Jet or Psycho, but they still made him nervous. He just didn't like how he got after taking them.

Satisfied, he picked up his bag and took it over to the cabinet he kept all his weapons in. He carefully selected his grenade launcher and stowed it in to his bag, along with several of the special grenades it used as ammunition. Boone had appeared beside him and Samael found him simply staring at the grenade launcher, then back up to Samael, as if to say 'are you kidding me?'

"It's just a precaution" Samael answered the unasked question. Boone, again, didn't seem convinced.

Samael mentally shrugged. Trying to change Boone's mind had proven harder then securing independence for Vegas on more than one occasion and he didn't have the time to try it again. The cabinet in front of him contained all of the weapons he had collected during his travels, from the common Assault Rifles and Plasma Rifles to the more advanced Tesla Cannon and unique Gobi Campaign Rifle.

Running his finger along a line of them, he finally settled on the Plasma Rifle, deciding that it would be prudent to travel light. He turned it on and, when the green glow of the barrel made him satisfied that it was in working condition, he threw a few canisters of MicroFusion Cells into his pack.

Then, kneeling down, he examined the pistols located at the bottom of the cabinet. After another moment he settled on the Ranger Sequioa, a revolver he had found on a dead NCR Ranger, and put it gently it a holster that he then strapped around his right thigh. He adjusted its height a little, making it the right distance to allow him to draw the fastest. It wouldn't be his first weapon of choice but if he needed it, he wanted to be sure he could get it.

He strode in to his "room", or at least where he kept a spare bed and clothes. He didn't like living up here, as the place creeped him out to no end, but sometimes he had found himself asleep on his desk so he had Yes Man bring up a bed.

It was also the room where he decided to keep some of his "trophies". On the other side he could see Caesar's armour, as well as the Legate's mask, both displayed nicely. There were also full sets of Kahn, Fiend, Powder Ganger, NCR...almost every faction that had been in the Mojave was represented. But it was the NCR he was particularly interested in.

He strode across, walking past the simple trooper uniform he had first used to gain their trust, eventually ending up in front of the black armour and duster of the NCR Veteran Rangers. Stronger then combat armour but lighter then power armour, Samael felt it would give him the right blend of manoeuvrability and protection he needed for a job like this. Of course, the specialised helmet with night vision capabilities wouldn't hurt either.

He quickly slipped out of the casual clothes he was wearing and replaced them with the armour, starting with the boots and working his way up. Finally he put the duster on and grabbed the helmet, turning around to leave and coming face to face with Boone again.

"I should go with you" he said.

Sam sighed and walked past him into the other room.

"No," he said, a little more forcefully this time. "I need someone here I can trust"

"You don't trust Yes Man?" Boone asked.

Sam froze, unsure whether to reveal his concerns over Yes Man's new "assertive" behaviour.

"Yes Man...isn't human" he concluded lamely, hoping that would be enough. Boone's silence seemed to indicate it was, although it could have equally meant the opposite. Sam could never tell quite what Boone was thinking.

Sam checked he had everything one last time, repacking his food and ammo to make sure everything fit, then zipped up his bag, threw it over his shoulders, picked up the rifle and turned to face Boone.

"Well...I'll see you later" he said, offering his hand.

"Be safe" Boone said, shaking it. Sam nodded his approval then headed for the elevator, pushing for the first floor of rooms when he got there. He caught one final glimpse of Boone staring out the windows into the Mojave before the doors sealed with a slight click.

* * *

When he entered Oz's room Sam thought the man had gone. The bed was untouched and there were no signs that anyone had even stepped foot in here since House closed it all down almost 200 years ago. But sure enough, Oz emerged from a side room and went straight for a bedside chest of drawers, rummaging around the draws for something.

Sam noticed he was wearing the same clothes from yesterday, but had replaced his duster with a simple leather jacket. The clothes were also dust free and relatively clean, something that surprised Sam. The man apparently hadn't slept but had found time to wash his clothes?

Oz found whatever he was looking for and turned. A broad smile came across his face as he saw Sam.

"I knew you'd agree" he said eagerly. Sam held up his hand for silence and Oz's smile disappeared.

"You were...vague, yesterday" said Sam, "what _exactly_ are you offering?"  
Oz's smile returned as he put whatever he was holding in to a pack he had at his feet. "I'm offering the chance-"

"The chance to change the Mojave forever" Sam interrupted impatiently, "I've already heard your speech. What I need now is details"

"Ah..." said Oz, a slightly concerned look crossing his face as he reached up to scratch the back of his head, "we might have a problem then..."

"You won't tell me?" asked Sam, able to mask his anger a little.

"No, no" said Sam, waving his hands for added emphasis, "it's just...I don't know"

"You don't know?"

"Not what's past the 1st level, no"

"...and you still came here?"

"Look," Oz said, "I know how it looks, but there were things on that 1st level that are considered rare out here in the wastes. Imagine what's further down?"

"Could be nothing" offered Sam. Oz furrowed his brows.

"Always so negative" he mumbled, then he continued, louder this time, "I found shipping reports from a Pre-War computer that talked about big things being sent there, things so big they had to be disassembled just to fit through the door. Do you know how big a Vault door is?"

Sam thought for a moment, trying to remember how large Vault 3's door was. He had to admit, anything that wouldn't fit through there would be large indeed.

"But you don't know what exactly?"

"No..." admitted Oz, "but what do you have to lose? Really?"

"My life?" countered Sam.

Oz looked away awkwardly, unsure of what to say or how to salvage the conversation. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing came so he closed it again.

"And what about your price?" Sam asked, finally breaking the silence.

"You know what it is" whispered Oz.

"I want to hear you say it"

"You have to promise, when this is done, you'll kill me. Blow me up with your robots, vaporize me with that laser from space I've heard rumours about, whatever. Just as long as there's not a single atom of me left" he said, calmer then Sam would expect given what he just said.

"That doesn't seem strange to you?" Sam asked.

"To me? No," answered Oz.

Sam looked away. He had hoped that hearing it again, with a night of sleep and a sober brain to think it over, would have made it less strange, but it didn't. If anything, that strange taste he had was returning even stronger this time.

"I...still don't know" he finally said.

"Come on" pleaded Oz lightly, "you've got nothing to lose and everything to gain..."

Sam breathed out deeply and continued looking away, lost in thought. The risk was undeniable, hell even travelling through the Mojave was still dangerous at times, and the price was strange enough to make him even more wary...but there was a part of him that couldn't shake the feeling that he had to say yes. Maybe it was his recent boredom overwhelming his mind or a strong sense of curiosity, but either way he had his answer.

"Alright, I'm in" he said, offering Oz his hand. The man's face brightened instantly and he shook it with excessive enthusiasm. "But we have to leave now"

Oz nodded, picked his bag up off and slung it over his shoulders. "Ready when you are chief"

Sam nodded as well and the pair moved towards the elevator.

"One more thing Oz"

"Yeah?"

"Don't call me chief"

* * *

Leon lent back, trying to get comfortable, but it seemed wherever he moved there was another rock sticking in his damn back.

He looked across the small gap to see Mike Pullen trying to do the same. When the dark skinned man looked up, Leon gave him a grin and a thumbs up. Mike just glowered at him.

With nothing else to do Leon leant forward to survey the small cliff-side they occupied. Looking down, he saw the entrance to the cave that both he and Mike were watching. They knew the Deathclaws were in there, but after Diesel's death Abercrombie had ordered them to simply wait for the damn things to come out, rather than trying to flush them out. Leon didn't disagree, although, as Abercrombie's Second, he never would have disagreed with his leader no matter what he thought.

He even shared the man's distaste for these missions. If the scientists wanted Deathclaws so bad they should have to come out here and get them themselves, rather than sacrificing good soldiers like Diesel. There were limited numbers of men like Diesel, but there seemed to be a never ending supply of doctors wanting them to do this and that. It had never made sense to Leon why they got priority. The Enclave was built on the backs of its soldiers in his mind.

He could see, on the wall right below him, Diesel's blood glistening in the moonlight too. It left a mild sick feeling in his stomach; not because it was blood, as a lifetime soldier he'd seen more than his fair share, but because it was his friend's. A fellow Lifer, as the younger recruits liked to call them. They had hoped it might have been enough to draw out the creatures by now, but that hadn't worked so they were left to just sit and wait. Leon had sent Beaumont a little further back to cover the next area with explosives as a sort of 'failsafe' though. Leon and Mike were both safe where they were now, elevated roughly 12 feet from the bottom of the cave, but the natural ramp that led down to it was only 10-15 metres long and if one got past that then they could both be in danger.

When he looked back up he saw Pullen was checking his weapons and Leon decided to do the same. His plasma rifle was fine as he checked it only a few minutes ago, but he reached out and moved it a little closer. If he had to have it he wanted to be sure he could reach it.

It was his second weapon that he focused most of his attention on. It was something new that the science department had created. It looked roughly like a plasma gun but with the core parts removed and placed with a more low tech design meant to fire it's ammunition; long, electrified bolts. Each bolt supposedly had enough electricity to stun a Deathclaw, although Leon had his doubts. Especially since they had never been tested.

He could tell Pullen was thinking the same thing as the man field stripped his weapon, the same model as Leon's, checked the weapon was in working condition and then rebuilt it. It was the 6th time Leon had seen him do it since they had set up at their positions. Leon quickly did the same, as it wasn't a particularly complex weapon compared to their plasma rifles. But the fact that it wasn't tested made he and Pullen, both Lifers like Diesel, nervous. Any number of things could go wrong with a mission and that was with good, reliable equipment. Throwing something new in there was the equivalent of a wrench into their proverbial gears, as Pullen always liked to say, and he wasn't far off in Leon's mind.

He turned as he heard something approaching behind him, but relaxed when he saw it was only Beaumont. "It done?" he asked, referring to the explosives. Beaumont simply nodded then moved to his position, a few metres to Leon's left.

Leon watched Beaumont take up his position, finding a somewhat comfortable spot and then sitting perfectly still, looking almost like another rock. He had a unique set of armour on him which Leon had always admired. Like the rest of the irregulars in Abercrombie's unit, he had stripped down his standard issue power armour, getting rid of the sleeves and gauntlets. Hannibal had modified his helmet though, removing the parts that covered his face, making it look more like one of the baseball helmets back in the Stand then something from a suit of power armour.

He was a hard man and the helmet let him display his usually stone faced grim look. He rarely spoke outside of combat and even then it was short and to the point. All business, someone Abercrombie had valued highly when he was first put in command of this unit.

Leon had to admit he hadn't liked him at first. Beau's silence seemed like arrogance to the talkative Leon, but eventually he realised that was just how the man was. And he was a damn good soldier on top of it, having a real knack for explosives and other loud weapons, which Leon thought seemed to be at odds with his personality.

He then looked across at Pullen, the man carefully focused on the cave entrance. Both he and Leon were Lifers, although Pullen had 17 years to Leon's 11. Leon was far younger too, mostly because the recruitment age was higher in Pullen's days back when there were more people and more soldiers. Nowadays? People as young as 15 were being accepted. Leon himself had signed up at 17, straight out of the basic academy that all Enclave children went through at the Stand. He smiled at the memories of being young and stupid, naive to the way the real world works.

Pullen was the lone member of Abercrombie's unit that still had his entire power armour, although his helmet was off at the moment. He had spent too many years serving as a regular soldier to even try to adapt to anything different. Leon himself left his helmet and his sleeves at the Stand, although he kept the gauntlets. They made him feel stronger, somehow.

Strictly speaking it was against protocol but, surprisingly to Leon, Abercrombie both welcomed and encouraged this sort of adaptation. Power armour was designed for the grunt infantry; to hold and take ground, fight in straight lines. For a squad like Abercrombie's, irregulars, the bulky armour was more a hindrance then a help. Most of the men had gotten rid of their sleeves, as they slowed a man's reflexes, and helmets, as they slightly stifled a person's vision. Even Abercrombie had taken to wearing combat armour over the usual power armour, although Leon knew it was only because of Hannibal. The skinny bastard couldn't even wear power armour but he had even stripped down his combat armour, although whether that was for the same reasons as the others or if he just wanted to fit in, Leon didn't know.

Leon noticed Pullen was signalling him and looked up at the veteran. The man had his rifle lying in his lap and was signalling with his fingers. Leon understood them instantly.

_Danger Close_

Pullen then pointed down to the cave and Leon leaned out, trying to get a look at what had to be a Deathclaw. He saw nothing and leaned out a little further.

Suddenly, a huge cream coloured claw came soaring for his face. He pushed himself back with a curse, fumbling to get out one of his weapons but found he was lying on them. The claw was still thrashing, still searching for him, and it was getting closer. He kicked out, booted foot landing on thick, muscled appendages and doing no noticeable damage. He found he was screaming something, although what it was he didn't know. The Deathclaw started roaring too, almost in response to Leon.

Somehow, through the noise of his screams and the roaring he heard the dull _whoosh_ of a bolt flying through the air. There was a low howl and the claw disappeared back down under the edge. Rolling over, Leon pulled out his own bolt gun and carefully leaned over the edge.

The Deathclaw was half leaning on the wall soaked with Diesel's blood and Pullen's bolt was sticking out of the creature's back. It looked up, saw the veteran trying furiously to reload his weapon, and began to make its way up the small ramp.

Another _whoosh_, this time from Beaumont, and a bolt materialised in its thigh. It roared in pain but didn't stop moving. Leon fired, hitting it low in the back. Pullen had reloaded now and fired again but his shot was wide, thudding in to the rock wall.

Leon watched, amazed as the Deathclaw continued moving up the ramp in a half run, half limping fashion with 3 bolts sticking out of it and enough electricity coursing through its body Leon could see the tiny bolts leaping between its fingers. He knew they were tough, but this was ridiculous.

It continued up the ramp and was almost at the end when Leon saw Beaumont duck behind some cover.

"Cover!" Leon roared, hoping Pullen had heard him, before burying himself in the rock face.

The explosion sounded like a thunder inside his skull, the force rumbling across the landscape and shaking the very mountain they were positioned on. Rocks began tumbling down and Leon made himself in to as tight a ball as possible, cursing as he thought about how this would be the perfect time to have a full set of power armour.

Slowly the rumbling stopped and the tumbling rocks became nothing more than pebbles. Leon opened his eyes, carefully, half expecting the Deathclaw to still be coming at them. But where the Deathclaw had stood was nothing but a large, blackened crater with little chunks of flesh spread out in a larger radius and soft wisps of smoke coming from the centre.

He sat up, ears still ringing, and looked for the others. Pullen was up, fingers in his ears trying to clear them out. When he saw Leon looking at him he gave him a thumbs up, but winced as he took his hand away from his ear.

Leon returned it and looked for Beaumont. Where he had been was nothing but a pile of rocks and for a moment Leon was afraid they had lost him. But slowly the rocks began to shift and Beaumont pulled himself out of the rubble, sitting up as if nothing had happened. He looked over at Leon and gave only the slightest of nods. Leon couldn't help but smile at that hard bastard.

He got up, grabbed his guns and started to make his way over to the crater. When he got there he felt something warm trickle down the side of his face and, putting his fingers up to his face, he came away with blood on them. Maybe it was just a cut, or maybe it was his ears bleeding, he wasn't sure. But at least the ringing was gone. Whether that was good or bad he would find out later.

He got there first but Beaumont joined him a moment later.

"I think you might have overdone it" he said to the silent man, "a little"

Beaumont just stared at him.

"Hey" said Pullen, jumping over a rock and striding over to them, "I don't want to be 'that guy', but aren't we supposed to get them alive, not in pieces?" he asked, kicking a hunk of flesh with his foot.

"Only if we can stay alive" answered Leon, "That was one tough mother, wasn't it?"

"Oath" answered Pullen, "Good work silent man" he added, nodding at Beaumont. The quiet man nodded back.

"Well, I don't think we'll be getting our bolts back" said Leon, motioning at the smoking crater, "it's about time to head back too, it'll be dark soon"

"Wait..." started Pullen, "You don't think we could..."

Leon rolled his eyes. "You know how bad it tastes. And Hannibal only seems to make it worse. Why even bother?"

"I don't know" snapped Pullen, "Maybe I'm just sick of living off coyote meat for the last 20 years"

Leon smiled. Ever since he had met Pullen the man would exaggerate how long he had been serving as a solider. When Pullen was at 11 years he said he had been serving for 15 and now, at 17, it was 20. If he ever got called on it he would just snap 'well it feels that damn long with you bastards'. It was something that always made Leon smile.

He sighed. "Fine," he said, "Beaumont, collect up some pieces big enough to make steaks"

The man nodded and started walking off.

"Oh, and Beaumont?" Pullen called. Beaumont stopped and turned. "No burnt bits...please?"

Beaumont just nodded and headed over to where they had put their packs. He returned with an empty, worn out sack which he started tossing big hunks of meat in to.

"You owe me for this" said Leon, as he and Pullen watched Beaumont at work.

"I reckon I will" admitted Pullen as he thought about how horrible those steaks would taste after Hannibal added his 'spices'. Then he shrugged. It still beat coyote meat, he thought.


	5. Brief

**Please read and review. I'm eager to get some (constructive) criticism/feedback. Tell me what you like/hate and why. It will be much appreciated. Enjoy!**

* * *

Abercrombie awoke to the sound of rough knuckles rapping on his door.

"He's waiting" said a voice, clearly Sundiata's. Abercrombie sat up, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. It had been a month since he had slept in a proper bed and he had almost forgotten how good they felt.

Another sharp knock. "I heard you!" Abercrombie snapped. There was a moment of silence before he heard the unmistakable sound of heavy boots walking off down the hall. So he guessed he would be allowed to get ready in peace.

He swung his legs from the small bed and looked around the room. It was still small, with the only furniture the bed he was on and the locker in the corner. Standing, he yawned and opened it.

All it had was his combat armour and duster, along with his other clothes. He quickly put them on, even the armour. He knew he didn't need it on base, but at this point in his life he was so used to wearing it that going without it would make him uncomfortable. And the last thing he wanted to be with the General was uncomfortable. He brushed himself down, not realising how dirty his clothes were from yesterday, and then headed out.

The Stand was easy to get lost in if a person wasn't careful. The walls and ceilings looked the same in every part, having been built for practicality rather than look, with light grey walls and bright white ceilings, dominated by the large rectangular lights that were kept on 24 hours of every day. The halls were wide enough for two people to walk comfortably past each other and they widened when they intersected with others. It was built that way to both ease the traffic of people moving from place to place and as a defensive measure, providing more space for soldiers to cover the halls which, with no cover, would be death traps for enemy troops.

As Abercrombie walked through he passed many different people, some soldiers returning after their shifts and others just wakening, stumbling out of their rooms bleary eyed. There were officers too, all with their uniforms tightly pressed and in perfect condition. They snapped off quick salutes to Abercrombie, those that knew him and knew he outranked them, but they seemed loathe to do it.

He didn't blame them. He felt wrong every time he came back here, as if he no longer fit in. His non-standard armour, his lack of a uniform or any clear sign of rank went against everything they were taught as officers. All Enclave officers were better than those under them, just as an Enclave citizen was better than anyone that lived out in the Wastes. It was just a fact of life, something nobody bothered to question. _Or maybe_, he thought, _we're just afraid of the answer._

He had to admit that he didn't believe in these ideals as strongly as he did when he was younger. After years of fighting out in the Wastes, of watching Enclave men die at the hands of supposed lesser peoples, it was getting harder to believe the blatant propaganda. To Abercrombie it was arrogance and arrogance only got you killed out in the Wastes.

He continued walking, coming out of the barracks and passing the doors leading in to the hangar. As usual, the place was abuzz with activity; vertibirds coming and going, mechanics doing their usual maintenance, pilots joking and laughing with each other. Abercrombie doubted it ever got quiet in that place.

He continued, moving in to the offices. He even passed his old office, now belonging to a colonel whose name he didn't recognise. He looked inside. There was not much of a difference from the last time he had seen it, the furniture was the same and there was maybe a little more clutter. He felt oddly nostalgic at the sight of it. Finally he reached the waiting room outside the General's office. Strangely, Sundiata wasn't standing guard. In fact, there was nobody else in the room.

Abercrombie walked to the heavy steel door that led to the General's office and knocked.

"Come in" said a voice, again clearly Sundiata's.

He entered. The General was sitting behind his desk, leaning forward with his chin resting on his hands. Sundiata was standing next to the door, arms folded and doing his best to look menacing. Sitting in one of the seats was Eagle, grinning like an idiot. Abercrombie suddenly got a sick feeling in his stomach.

The General smiled as he saw him enter. "Ah, Abercrombie, here at last. Did you sleep well?"

"Well enough" answered Abercrombie, unwilling to admit it had been the best sleep he'd had in years.

"Excellent!" the General said, clapping his hands together in joy. The moment passed quickly, however, and his face took on a more stern look. "Now, I have explained to Master Eagle the circumstances and consequences of the next half hour, but since you are late I will repeat them. You are to speak only when directly spoken too, this is key. Breaking this rule will lead to your immediate re-assignment. Further, any questions asked must be answered honestly and with all due haste. Finally, this is strictly confidential and forfeiting that will be met with the same punishment as treason. Understand?"

Abercrombie nodded, though he was a little confused. The punishment for treason was death; what could possibly be that important in a briefing?

"Good" said the General. He rose to his feet and turned to a blank wall behind his office. "follow me" he ordered, then marched forward. The wall slid away, revealing a hidden doorway, and the General, Sundiata and Eagle disappeared through it. Abercrombie hesitated a moment, then followed.

It was a short hallway that came out into a pitch black room.

"Where are we?" asked Eagle, somewhere to Abercrombie's left.

"Quiet!" hissed the General. He sounded like he was standing right in front of him. "Ladies and Gentlemen of the Council..." he continued, and Abercrombie stiffened. The Council? No wonder the General gave that speech.

The Council had always been in control of the Stand as caretakers and as a medium for all of the different parties, military, scientific and civilian, to have a say in how the largest Enclave facility was run. They took control after the Rig disaster and kept it until the new president revealed himself on the East coast. Rumours said they weren't too happy about that. But, following the destruction of the John Henry Eden ZAX and the rest of the East Coast expedition, they had regained their power as the only leaders of the Enclave society. There were plenty of rumours about their secret members too; that they were retired generals, powerful merchants and the like. Abercrombie believed that was probably true, but the other rumours were less flattering.

Some said they had a secret police force they used to take out anyone who didn't fit in to their plan, others said they had been involved in the Raven Rock disaster, in order to get complete power. Abercrombie didn't know what to think about those, but the fact he thought they were at least possible made him more than a little unsettled.

"...I present to you Captain Erik Abercrombie, squad leader of the 2nd Irregulars and a distinguished 19 year veteran-" continued the General.

"Thank you, Augustus" interrupted a voice from the dark, "but we do have his file here with us"

There were sudden thumps as the lights came on, several over and around Abercrombie, almost blinding him. As his eyes adjusted he saw other lights, further in to the room, coming on. They weren't much more then desk lamps and illuminated the hands and arms of the people sitting under them, obviously the members of the Council. From what Abercrombie could tell there were two levels, each with 6 lamps equally spaced, although he could only see 7 sets of arms.

"Your file is interesting Captain. It says here you were part of the Floridian war?" continued the voice. Abercrombie visibly shuddered as buried memories came flooding back. "Is something wrong?"

"No sir..." Abercrombie started, trying to hold off the memories. Even after 9 years he still remembered it like it was yesterday, despite his best attempts to do otherwise.

Florida was seen as an untapped gold mine of Old World tech by the Council. They had decided an expedition should be mounted and Abercrombie, with all his youthful wisdom, volunteered immediately. But nobody could have expected the irradiated and mutated jungle they would walk in to, with beasts even more terrifying then Deathclaws stalking you all hours of the day and plants that could move so fast they could strangle a man before he even knew he was in trouble. Abercrombie spent two miserable months in there, fighting to survive with whoever else was alive, until reinforcements finally arrived and he and the others were sent back to the Stand. His bravery, although he struggled to see it as that, was rewarded with a promotion to Captain, something the young Sergeant thought was the greatest thing in his life. How wrong he would end up being.

"Captain, we're waiting" said the voice, snapping Abercrombie out of his trance.

"My apologies, sirs. Yes, the file is correct. I served as a Master Sergeant in 2nd platoon during the Floridian"

"That was quite impressive Captain. Not many men got out of that one with their lives, let alone a major promotion"

"Sir?" asked Abercrombie, unsure where the questions were headed.

"Well..." the voice continued, "your efforts in the Floridian were most impressive, but the rest of your file is...less so"

Abercrombie looked across at the General, but he was just staring straight forward, face and body motionless, a statue in the presence of the few men and women with more power then himself.

"I don't-" he began.

"6 years ago" the voice interrupted, "you were sent on what was deemed a straight forward mission in to southern Idaho. However, you lost 3 men and failed to complete it...in fact, according to this you lost a key piece of technology as well. Would you care to explain this?"

Abercrombie opened his mouth to speak but he was cut off yet again, although this time it wasn't a voice. Someone to his right had slammed his hand down on his desk, the sound echoing off the walls of the hall and causing the small lamp on their desk to rattle and sway.

"This man's record is unquestionable" growled a deeper voice, clearly the man who had slammed his fist down, "you have no right to ask these questions"

Abercrombie turned back to the middle as he saw the first voice's arms disappear in to the dark. He couldn't see what he was doing, but he imagined a thin man leaning back on his chair, a playful grin on his face, like this was all just one big game.

"I have every right to ask these questions when it concerns the future of the Enclave itself" the first voice responded, rather nonchalantly, "and unquestionable? Let me remind you, _general_, that nobody is above reproach by this board"

"And let me remind you, _master_" the second voice growled back, "that you have never been in the field..."

"Enough, gentlemen" came a voice to Abercrombie's left, this time a female's, "hindsight is an interesting but ultimately useless tool of examination. And may I remind you both that we all have equal rights on this Council. No one speaks for all of us"

There was some hushed grumbles but Abercrombie couldn't tell where they were coming from. Nobody talked though, so he guessed they had accepted what the woman had said.

It also gave him an insight in to at least two of the Council members. The 'general' was obviously from the military, likely a fighting man himself. The 'master' was a term used to describe high ranking civilians, so he was probably the head of one of the more powerful merchant sects. That would also explain his questions, to a degree. Merchants weren't prone to trust anyone, even respected members of the Enclave society like Abercrombie. _Am I even respected anymore_, he thought suddenly?

He also realised the slight the General had used on Eagle. _Master_ Eagle. _I guess I'm not the only one who finds him annoying_ Abercrombie thought.

"With that in mind" continued the woman, "shall we discuss your more recent activities?"

There was a sound of rustling paper as the members of the Council turned over the pages of his file, heading straight for the last few pages.

"Ah, here we are...it says you've been assigned to the Research and Adaptation Department for the last 7 months" continued the woman.

"Yes ma'am"

"And what have been your duties during this time?"

"Our only duty was the capture and return of live Deathclaw specimens, ma'am" answered Abercrombie formally, although he knew all that and more was already in his file. These questions were just to gauge his reaction.

"Yes, now I see it...hmm, you've only brought back 3 so far?"

"Yes ma'am"

"...that is a low number, is it not?"

"Uh...yes, I suppose it is, ma'am"

"Is that your best explanation?" asked the first voice, a hint of boredom in his voice.

"All things considered I would count that number as a success actually, sir"

"A success? Please explain, captain" said the woman, "and please, speak freely"

Abercrombie had no idea what that last sentence truly meant. Did she want him to speak his honest opinion and basically speak out against his orders, practically a cardinal sin for an Enclave officer? Or did she want the clichéd 'company line' officers were taught to recite during their training? Was this a chance to turn his career around or would it continue to spiral downwards, a path it had taken ever since that damn Idaho mission.

He heard the creaking of chairs and the groaning of tables as several members of the Council leaned forward, their arms appearing in the light and leaning on their desks, obviously interested in what Abercrombie was going to say.

"It's a suicide run, ma'am" answered Abercrombie confidently. He figured his career was already in the toilet so bothering to consider whether it was ever going to change was pointless. If he was to be treated like an outcast then he might as well act like one. Still, this tough guy attitude didn't stop his heart from jumping in to his mouth.

"A suicide run?" she repeated, a hint of surprise in her voice.

"A suicide run!" growled the second voice angrily, the 'general' most likely regretting his decision to support the captain now.

"Please...ex plain what you mean" she asked.

"Deathclaws are vicious creatures" explained Abercrombie, taking a deep breath to try and calm his nerves, "much more vicious then the reports indicate. I've seen them continue charging despite suffering heavy damage, I even saw one tear a man in half despite missing one of its legs from the knee down. Our duty calls for my team and I to hunt these creatures down, but they live in packs and generally make nests in caves. One thing you must understand...they are highly dangerous out in the open, but put them in a small cave with several others of their kind and it's practically a death sentence for anyone willing to go in. Killing them alone is a tough enough task, but taking them alive...well, that takes more luck than skill...ma'am" he finished.

There were some grumblings from the back and Abercrombie even thought he heard someone whisper the words "coward" and "traitor".

"That is...a most interesting observation, Captain. This Council does not often hear direct opinions from the working classes" said the woman. "General?"

Abercrombie turned to look at the General and, for only a moment, he thought he saw a look of mild concern on his face. He was glad he hadn't looked at him earlier, to see a look like that on such a hardened man, after what Abercrombie had said, might have been enough to give the career soldier a heart attack.

"He is approved. Brief him immediately" said the woman. The General nodded, then bowed slightly, before turning to Abercrombie.

"Follow me" he whispered and headed to the door they had entered from, which Abercrombie now noticed was illuminated.

"That was intense" whispered Eagle and Abercrombie almost jumped. He had forgotten the man was there, he had stayed so quiet during the last 10 minutes that Abercrombie could scarcely believe it. Eagle _never_ stayed quiet.

After a moment they emerged back in to the General's office, first the General, then Abercrombie and Eagle and finally Sundiata bringing up the rear, pressing the button to seal the door when he was through.

"You've been approved" stated the General, as if Abercrombie didn't already know. The man reached down, opened one of his draws, pulled something out and then tossed a file across the table towards Abercrombie. "Your new assignment"

Abercrombie picked up the file and opened it, scanning the first few pages. They were reports from various information sources, both Enclave and otherwise, that talked about a small group in Nevada. There was also topographical mapping of both northern Nevada and southern Idaho.

_Idaho_. He nearly choked when he read it again. Why was he being sent back there?

"Your new mission is entirely confidential...revealing what I am about to tell you will be considered an act of treason and will be punished to the full extent of your law, do you understand?" the General asked. Abercrombie nodded absently, still focused on the file. "I wonder, have you ever heard of the Regenerating Man?"

Abercrombie froze, his head slowly lifting to meet the General's eyes, almost hoping to see that the man was kidding. But he wasn't.

Abercrombie had heard the stories, just like everyone in the Enclave. Stories about a man, the last survivor of a Pre-War experiment, whose cells regenerated at a rapid rate. He was the Holy Grail to the Enclave; if they could capture him and replicate even a tenth of what he could do then their troop problem wouldn't be a problem anymore. More importantly, the man's cell regeneration effectively made him immortal, able to re-grow limbs and even organs in a matter of hours. If they could recreate that...the Enclave would be unstoppable, their new super soldiers would overcome the Brotherhood, the NCR, Polis...anyone that dared to stop them. Abercrombie's heart was beating again, faster than it had when he was with the Council.

The General seemed to notice his reaction. "Of course you have" he said as he answered his own question with a smooth smile, "that file is everything we have on him"

"Sir..." Abercrombie started, but wasn't sure where to start. He had so many questions. "Is this real?" he finally asked.

"Quite real, yes" said the General.

"And this is my new assignment?"

The General cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter, as if he was about to tell Abercrombie some bad news. Abercrombie swore he felt heart stop beating for a moment as he waited for the answer.

"Yes" the General answered, after what felt like hours. In reality it was only a few moments, barely seconds, but Abercrombie's mind was buzzing so fast that he had no sense of time. Questions burst in to existence and answered themselves thousands of times a second and the process continued to repeat, over and over until his head felt like it was fuzzy, like it was stuffed full of some kind of cheap Bighorn wool that soaked up all his thoughts but wouldn't let him think either.

It was Eagle that snapped him back to reality. "What's my part, sir?"  
"I would have thought that was obvious" said the General, a hint of irritation in his voice, "you're going to be the 2nd's pilot"

Eagle grinned so large his white teeth almost blinded Abercrombie. Abercrombie felt disappointed and even a little angry, but it didn't last long. He was still too excited about this assignment.

"When do we leave sir?" Abercrombie asked.

A slight smile appeared on the General's face. "As soon as possible, Captain." He stood and offered his hand. "Good hunting, both of you" he said, shaking both Abercrombie and Eagle's hands.

They both rose and shuffled to the door, Abercrombie still flicking through the file, trying to memorise as much of it as possible.

"Oh, one more thing Captain" said the General. Abercrombie turned back to see the General had another file in his hand. "Your new team member"

"Excuse me?"

"Corporal Stones...Diesel, I believe you called him...was your medic. Correct?"

"Yes, sir?"

"And he is now gone?"

"Yes..."

"Then here is his replacement. Corporal William Hart, a fine young doctor"

Abercrombie took the file and scanned it quickly, wondering what it was the kid had done to get transferred to the irregulars. He knew this whole 'replacement' thing was just an excuse to get rid of the poor kid.

His file wasn't exactly flattering. He had been transferred around several times before, with numerous officers citing his laziness and arrogance as reasons. He was good though, so the Council always found a spot for him. It wasn't until the 5th page that Abercrombie spotted what he was looking for.

Under the man's recent operations he saw that an undisclosed young male had died on the operating table. The child had had lung cancer and the pre-surgery notes listed that it was a long shot at best, but it seemed he was still getting the blame. More than likely it had been a Council member's kid. At least, that was the only thing Abercrombie could think of that would make an outcast out of someone with his skills. He nodded towards the General, hoping the man took it as a 'thanks', then strode out the door. Eagle was waiting for him, much to Abercrombie's annoyance.

"How sweet is this?" beamed Eagle, practically skipping down the hallway. "_Finally_ we get to work together!"

Abercrombie ignored him. He now had two files to memorise and a stop to make before the biggest assignment of his life. He found it slightly annoying, but mentally shrugged it off. It was just one of those things, he guessed.

* * *

Sundiata unfolded his arms as the pair left and sunk into one of the chairs in front of the General's desk.

"Do you really think they'll find him?" he asked. The General snorted derisively.

"Not at all," the General answered, "our agent that gave us the information has reported that they have them in sight and are about to join whatever adventure they're currently on"

"Then why put Abercrombie on it?" wondered Sundiata. The General turned to stare at him.

"How long have you been with me?" he asked. The big man shrugged.

"5...maybe 6 years"

"And you have to ask that question?"

Sundiata's normally stony face had a look of confusion on it, or as much as it could show. The General sighed.

"Because we don't want Abercrombie or his group of freaks at the Stand" he answered, turning away to rummage through his desk draws for something. "At the least it will occupy their time and might even, if we're lucky, lead to their deaths"

"If I might ask sir..."

The General stopped. "There is no formality here, Barger. Ask your questions"

"Why don't we just kill him?"

"Because despite his shameful behaviour as an officer the last few years he still has allies, even as high up as the Council itself. Although he probably lost a few after that last meeting" he said with a slight smile, "if I had known it would be that easy to alienate him I would have put him before them years ago"

Sundiata just nodded. Politics and the like went right over the big man's head, but he was just fine with that. Killing was his business and he stuck to it.

"So what now?"

"Now? We wait" said the General, finally finding what he was looking for. It was a cigar, thin but long. He produced a lighter as well to light it. "And hope that everything goes according to plan...for once"


	6. Recruits

"And what are we doing here?" asked Sam as he and Oz strolled in to a small town.

It wasn't much to look at. They had passed a rusted sign on their way in that said the town's name was Ely. There were several buildings, rising above the others, located in the centre of the town which looked like they were of Pre-War origin. But the rest of the town looked like a scrap heap, with the other buildings being built from scrap metal, old armour and what Sam guessed was remains of former Pre-War buildings that used to occupy the area.

"Recruiting" Oz said over his back. Sam grabbed his arm and pulled the man around so they were face to face.

"What do you mean _recruiting_?" demanded Sam, annoyed. This whole 'being light on details' business was starting to truly piss him off. Oz shook Sam's hand off his arm like it was nothing, but he still had a small smile on his face. _Damn, but that man is always smiling at something_, thought Sam.

"You didn't think the two of us were just going to stroll across the mountains alone, did you?" Oz asked.

"I did, actually"

Oz laughed a little, thinking Sam was making a joke. But when he looked back at Sam's stern face he just muttered something to himself and turned back to moving through the town. Sam sighed in annoyance, but followed the man nonetheless. He started to wonder, and not for the first time since the pair had left Vegas 4 days ago, what exactly he had gotten himself in to.

There weren't many people in town. A few merchants, pack Brahmins sagging under the heavy weight of various wares, were bartering with locals here and there, but for the most part the streets were empty. It wasn't until the pair got further that Sam started to understand why.

Rising out of the middle of the town was a huge, 3-storey Pre-War building that towered over the others, even the other Pre-War ones. He noticed a lot of people were staring up at it in wonder and almost forgot that out here, amongst the poor and hopeless, this was probably the largest building they had ever seen. It didn't compare to the Lucky 38, or any of the other casinos on the Strip, but Sam could understand why people would be impressed. It just looked powerful, indestructible, like looking up the face of a tall mountain range. It made him feel small for some reason.

As they got closer to the door Sam started to hear the noise of drunken singing and laughter. He looked up, wanting to see what this place was called, but there was no name. It just had the word 'INN' painted in white across the top of the doorway.

"No name?" asked Sam, nodding up at the letters above the door. Oz half turned towards him but continued walking.

"No need" he explained casually, "it's the only place for miles. Everyone knows it"

Sam was about to point out how stupid that was until they walked through the door. The place looked much bigger inside then it did from the outside, but even with this added size the place was packed.

On the back wall stretched a long bar that was staffed by 4 or 5 bartenders, each almost constantly busy pouring drinks. Waiters and waitresses scurried around, weaving in between the crowds of people, plates of food and drinks balanced precariously on one hand.

Everywhere else, at least from what Sam could see, was packed with people. Wastelanders sharing some drinks and a few laughs, merchants trying to do business, struggling to be heard over the noise, whores plying their trade in the corners, leading men up a flight of stairs in the back right corner...it was like an entire city squeezed in to one big hall.

Sam expected someone to throw him a look or two, seeing as how he was dressed in full armour, helmet and all, with several menacing looking weapons attached to his body and his pack. But no one so much as looked at him. _I guess they see worse than me,_ he thought.

He noticed Oz was trying to say something to him.

"What?" he shouted, his voice just barely rising above the noise. Oz leaned in closer.

"I can see our man" he shouted back, "He's over the back, follow me." Then he disappeared in to the crowd.

"Damn it" Sam muttered, as he tried to follow. The crowd was so thick it felt like he was wading through mud. Nobody was moving for him either and weaving around them in full armour was near impossible, so eventually he just pushed his way through. This seemed to be the way it was done, as nobody said anything.

Eventually he found Oz shaking hands with a man. He was tanned, with short black hair, roughly the same height as Sam and with only slightly less muscles. He looked a warrior. That was until you looked at his baby face, a huge grin seemingly permanently etched on it. No warrior had a face like that.

The man offered his hand to Sam and he shook it. "Samael Grant" the Courier shouted, trying to get above the noise of the rest of the place.

"Patrick Maurice Garrett" the man shouted back, that smile still on his face, "but please, call me Mo"

"Mo it is" said Sam, smiling back. It was hard to be genuinely happy in this noisy, overcrowded place, but Sam figured it wouldn't hurt to be nice to the man. At least until he found out what Oz wanted from him.

Mo motioned for the pair to follow him and they came to an empty table, a single mug of beer all that was on it. Sam was genuinely surprised. He wouldn't have thought they could have found a chair, let alone a table for the three of them. But as Mo picked up the mug and downed its contents in a single gulp, he guessed the table had been his. The fact that no one had took it must mean he was known around these parts, but whether his reputation was a good or a bad one, Sam couldn't tell yet. He couldn't imagine this man being a killer but, looking around, he couldn't imagine the standing men willing to leave an empty table for a soft hearted Samaritan either. It was a big question mark that wormed it's way right to the front of his head and left him feeling uneasy.

They all sank in to chairs and Mo waved his mug at a waitress, trying to order another round, but she didn't see him through the crowd. He shrugged and turned back to the pair.

"So..." he started.

"It's been a while" offered Oz.

Mo grinned. "I know, right? When was the last time? New Canaan?"

"I thought it was Goldfield?"

Mo face palmed. "Ha! 'Course, how could I forget that? With that little Jimmer guy, right?"

"Yes" Oz laughed, "What a tool." They both laughed at that. All it did for Sam was make him feel like more of an outsider.

"So..." Mo started again, glancing at Sam before turning back to Oz, "I'm guessing you didn't come to talk about old times?"

"No, no I didn't" Oz said, "I have a job for you, if you're interested"

Mo leant back in his chair and folded his arms. "I'm always interested in work, you know that. What's the job?"

"Me and my friend here are going for Vault 16. We could use your computer skills and, honestly, Patrick's muscle wouldn't hurt either"

Sam stiffened. _I thought his name was Patrick? There's another one?_

"You know he's still pissed about Tonopah?" Mo asked.

"What? Why?"

"He feels you abandoned us..." Mo said solemnly, as if he partially felt the same. Oz looked away.

"I think...I think I should talk to him"

"You sure?" asked Mo, concerned, "you know what he gets like..."

"Got any better ideas?"

Mo opened his mouth to say something, but seemed to decide against it. "Not really" he finally said, "ok, here goes..."

He closed his eyes and his face went blank. He sat like that, in silence, and just as Sam was going to say something his eyes snapped open and fixed on Oz's face. But it was the rest of his face that shocked Oz. That baby face, that couldn't hurt a fly, was now twisted in to the most savage scowl Sam had ever seen, and considering the people he'd known that was saying something.

"You've got balls talking to us" he growled at Oz.

"Lucky I don't have the brains to match" laughed Oz. 'Mo' didn't get the joke. At least, that's what Sam hoped kept his face in a scowl. He felt his hand touch metal and looked down, a little surprised to see his hand already over the grip of his pistol. _Old habits die hard I guess_.

"I heard your offer" 'Mo' sneered, "and we're not going"

"Come on Patrick, it's a good deal and-"

"THAT'S WHAT YOU SAID ABOUT TONOPAH!" he roared, surging to his feet and almost knocking the table over in the process. Sam backed out of his seat, pistol drawn now, chair clattering noisily to the ground.

Patrick's eyes turned to meet his, that scowl sending shivers down Sam's back and almost making his heart skip a beat, then he closed his eyes. His face went blank, the scowl gone, and a moment later they opened and he shook his head, as if trying to clear his mind. The grin from before came back and he sat down, fixing up the table while he was at it.

"You're lucky. It's easier to lock him up when he's angry...and he was pretty pissed" said 'Patrick', although it sounded more like Mo. He looked at Sam, seeing him still half crouched, chair lying sideways on the ground between his legs, pistol in hand. He smiled broadly at him. "You won't need it, we're all good now. Jesus but I need a drink"

He got up and headed to the bar without another word. Sam was still in shock, but he had the presence of mind to holster his pistol, making sure nobody had seen him draw it. He had no idea what the laws were like in this area and didn't feel like making unnecessary trouble this early in their journey.

Luckily the place was noisy enough to cover both Patrick's yelling and Sam's chair falling, so he breathed out slowly to calm his beating heart, then rounded fiercely on Oz.  
"You've got some explaining to do" he said, through gritted teeth.

"What about?" Oz asked casually, trying to wave one of the waitresses over to take his order. But in the horde of people she had no chance of seeing him.

"Are you dense?" Sam hissed, "What was that?" he waved his hand at the seat Mo had been sitting on.

"Oh...THAT" Oz said, turning to look at Sam and sighing, "he's a little...troubled"

"You've got to be kidding me..."

"Ok, ok...you're right, I should have told you before we came. I'm sorry" Oz said, although Sam couldn't tell if he meant it or not.

"Just tell me" Sam said, resigned to the fact that this was likely the most he was going to get out for now.

"Mo...well, technically Patrick...has two personalities. Mo is the easy one. Patrick...I think you can guess"

"And what do we need him for?"

"_Them_. What do we need _them_ for" Oz corrected, before continuing, "We need someone who knows computers to help get us in to the lower levels of the Vault. That's Mo."

"And Patrick?"

"He knows his way around a gun and that's always handy" he answered with a smile, "he used to be with the Brotherhood of Steel, you know?"

"He was?"

"Yeah..." said Oz, shaking his head sadly, "he got captured by those Legion people, tortured for weeks...months...maybe years, no one knows. But that's where he picked up the passenger in his body, if you get what I mean"

Sam nodded, knowing exactly what he meant. He had seen firsthand what the Legion was capable of and, after reading some of Mr House's 'human condition' books, he wasn't surprised that Patrick would create a second personality to help him deal with the trauma.

"Wait..." started Sam, his brows furrowing as he just thought of something, "why is Mo the dominant personality if Patrick is the real one? And why is Mo easygoing? Shouldn't his split personality have been more like Patrick? Tougher, more savage, a better capability to handle that sort of trauma?"

"Ah" said Oz knowingly, tapping his nose, "you're not the first to ask that. In fact, I asked those very same questions the first time I met him..." he trailed off, his eyes staring off in to the distance as if remembering some old memory. Then he seemed to snap back to reality and he turned back to Sam. "I met a doctor once who thought that neither is the original Patrick Maurice Garrett. He said that the real one is buried so deep he might never come out, that both Patrick and Mo were created as a way for him to deal with it all." Then he shrugged. "And that sure as hell made sense to me"

Sam nodded. It was an obscure explanation, but he didn't expect anything more from the man.

"And is he the only one we need to...recruit?" Sam asked. Oz smiled.

"Of course not" he said, "but all in due time..." he trailed off, turning towards Mo, who had returned from the bar with 3 large mugs. His tongue was sticking slightly out of his mouth as he did his best not to spill the drinks and he sighed slightly with relief when he got them safely on the table.

He pushed a mug in front of both Oz and Sam, then raised his in the air.

"To old times" he said, "and older friends"

"Cheers" Oz said. Sam just nodded, and all 3 men took a long swig from their mugs.

"I take it you're not coming with us for free" said Sam, locking his eyes with Mo's. An expression crossed his face, one Sam couldn't quite make out, then he looked down and a slight smile stretched across his lips.

"All business...I like that" he said. He took another swig from his mug, "Well, a percentage of the Vault would be a start"

Sam's eyebrows raised slightly. "A start?"

"My services don't come cheap" he said, that slight smile still on his face, "so I was thinking..." he hummed thoughtfully, "...20 percent sounds fair"

"Oh, well...that's too bad" said Sam absently, taking a sip from his mug, "I was hoping we could work together. Oz?" he motioned towards the door and got up to leave.

Mo looked at Oz, a look of confusion on his face, but Oz had the same look on his face as well.

"Where are you going?" Mo asked.

"Who, me?" Sam asked innocently, "I'm going to Vault 16. Right Oz?"

"You know you need me to get in, don't you?"

Now it was finally Sam's turn to smile, a small, mocking smile. "See, there's the problem...I don't"

"Excuse me?"

Sam let out a laugh. "I brought down the Legion and NCR single handily. If you don't think I can get in to a Vault by myself..."

"This is no ordinary Vault. Did you tell him Oz?" Mo asked, turning to Oz. The man just nodded dumbly though.

"Oh, he told me. But what I didn't tell him is that I know my own way around computers" he turned to Oz, "details...who needs them, right?" he finished sarcastically. He turned and took a few steps towards the door.

"Wait!" called Mo. Sam couldn't help but smile, although he hid it as he turned back.

"Yes?"

Mo had a welcoming smile on his face. "Please, sit down and we'll talk about this"

"Why? If you don't come cheap I can't afford to take you"

"My price is...negotiable" Mo finally said, as if he had been searching for the right word.

"That's good to hear" said Sam, sitting back down and matching Mo's smile. "I was thinking more along the lines of 5 percent"

"That's a bit low...tell you what, let's split the difference, so it's-"

"10 percent it is" interrupted Sam, offering his hand to Mo. Mo still had his mouth open, about to say something, but then he sighed resignedly and took Sam's hand.

"There is one other thing" he said, before he shook Sam's hand, "I have a debt here. Nothing huge, a few hundred caps or so, but I'm all out of money and they won't let me leave until I pay it"

"I'll take care of it" said Sam, and the two men shook hands.

"So when did you want to leave? This place isn't bad, if you've got a few days to spare" said Mo, taking another gulp of his drink, "Boris is usually fair with his price and I could probably even get you a discount because of my..."

Sam tuned him out. He stared around the now silent room. People were still moving, still talking, laughing, making noise, but he was completely oblivious to it.

He thought about this place. A bed was a very tempting proposition; 4 days of sleeping on rocks, taking turns on watch would be enough for anyone to crave a soft mattress and maybe even a warm body. He looked over at the whores. It had been a while...

Then the noise started. It came in slowly, starting off like pouring water, building up to a cascading waterfall and finally ending as an angry bee-hive buzzing between his ears. Everyone, and he thought it was possible that it was literally everyone, was talking, or laughing, or just generally making noise. It made him nauseous and started a throbbing behind his eyes. Suddenly sleeping on rocks didn't seem so bad.

"How long until you're ready to go?" he asked Mo.

"Well, I'd have to put on my armour, pack a few things, get some supplies..."

"How long?"

"If I rush...10 minutes?"

"Good. Get to it"

Mo looked at Oz, his brows furrowing in mild confusion. "What? Right now?"

Sam was rubbing the bridge of his nose, trying to ease the throbbing. "Yes"

"Uh, the suns going down. Shouldn't we at least wait the night..."

"No"

A long pause as Mo stared at him, then the man shrugged. "Fair enough. You pay the bill and I'll get my stuff." He disappeared in to the crowd, heading for the stairs at the back.

"You sure about this?" Oz asked, leaning closer to Sam. Sam sighed, his headache not going away.

"As sure as I've always been" he answered sarcastically. He got up and headed towards the bar, leaving Oz alone to mind the table and his pack that he left on his seat.

* * *

The bar was as busy, maybe even more so, then when Sam and Oz had entered. It took 10 minutes just for him to be noticed and another 5 for someone to ask him what he wanted. A young lad served him and when he told him he was here to settle a debt the boy called out to the back for a man named Boris.

A big, lumbering man strode out of a door at the very end of the bar. Clearly this was Boris, the owner, that Mo had mentioned earlier and he was a fairly imposing man, with wide shoulders, thick hair and a thick moustache to top it off. His well rounded stomach and deeply lined face made him look old, likely in his mid-40s. Dressed in simple overalls, he looked annoyed by the distraction to whatever work he was doing out the back.

"What do you want?" he grunted rudely. Sam hid his annoyance.

"I'm here to pay the debt of Patrick Maurice Garrett" he answered formally. The old man laughed.

"You must be some kind of idiot" he said, "paying another man's debt...oh well, your life."

He reached under the bar and produced a well worn back. Opening it reverently, he held it at arm's length, squinting to read the writing. He was clearly long sighted.

"That's 137 caps. You paying it all know?" he asked. Sam nodded and pulled his cap pouch from his waist, the small, heavy sack jingling as it landed on the counter. The man's eyes widened as he saw the pouch and he looked back at the book, pretending to rub something from the page.

"Ah, forgive me," he said, "there was some dirt on the page. That's actually one _thousand_ caps." He smiled then, like a predator closing in on his prey, "Looks like you got enough to cover it there..." he started, his hand slowly reaching for the pouch of caps.

Sam's caught it before it ever got close. "I'm here to pay a debt, not line your pockets" he said softly, but with a quiet authority, "I'll give you the 200, but no more"

"This is my bar," the man snapped, "_I_ make the rules here". Sam looked at him, then noticed a dirty mirror standing behind the bar. Despite it's years of dirt and grime Sam could make out the shapes of two men, looking like nothing more than normal patrons with drinks in hand, who were clearly angling towards him. They were close too, close enough to stop him from reaching the pistol he had strapped to his thigh.

If a person were to say anything about Samael Grant, it was that he was a cautious man. A thinker, some might even call him a schemer, but he was definitely not one to run in to a situation that forced him to rely on luck to win. And this was just one of those situations.

Sam thought for a long moment, running over the different scenarios in his head, trying to think of a way to come out of this clean and easy. But he came up blank.

"You're not trying to cheat me then?" he whispered. Boris' face went red with rage.

"How dare you..." he hissed through clenched teeth. He nodded to someone over Sam's right shoulder and he felt a hand grab his shoulder forcefully.

Samael Grant may have been a cautious man, but he knew when he needed to fight. And if a fight is unavoidable, you might as well through the first punch.

Sam's left hand snapped up, locking on to the man's wrist. He pulled the arm forward, rolling his shoulder to get his right hand behind the man, grabbed his hair and slammed his face down on to the bar. There was a sickening crunch and Sam guessed the man's nose was broken, and if he was lucky that was all that was broken.

But he hadn't forgotten about the second man and turned, left arm raised ready to block a right hook, the typical punch of a half-drunk goon. But the man was already down on the ground, eyes staring up at Oz as he pushed his foot gently on to the man's neck.

"You really need to work on your customer service Boris" he said with a slight smile. Sam turned back to see the large man's eyes wide with fear. He quickly counted out the caps owed and pushed them over the bar.

"The debt is paid" he stated. Boris nodded meekly. Sam was just about to walk away when Oz moved past him and held out a folded piece of paper. Boris took it.

"Give this to the man" said Oz.

"What man?" Boris asked.

"Don't play stupid" Oz said calmly, "You know who. Tell him we're heading north"

He handed Sam his pack, then turned and headed in to the crowd. Sam followed him. They headed to the door and met Mo there. The man was dressed in full power armour, although it was dented, scratched, burnt and just generally damaged. He had his helmet in one hand and a pack over another. Sam also saw the tip of a plasma rifle, not unlike his own, sticking over the man's shoulder, magnetically stuck to the back of the metallic armour. Mo saw them both staring at the armour and gave it a look over himself.

"We've had some times, me and my second skin here" he said with a smile, "you still want to go, it's getting dark out there?"

Sam looked out on the town. The sun was going down, the very tip of it all that was showing over the mountain range in front of them.

"Yes" he said confidently, then headed out, not waiting to see their response. His headache eased the further he got from the INN though and, when he heard two sets of footsteps behind him, matching his pace, he sighed contently. As he lead them north he finally felt like he had some semblance of control over this little adventure.

"Excuse me" shouted a female voice, a little bit behind them. All 3 men turned to see a woman running up to them. She was wearing some rough leather armour and had a rifle slung across her back, as well as a pack. Her long dark hair was tied in a ponytail and while she wasn't stunningly attractive, Sam thought she was at least good looking. As she got closer Sam saw she was several inches shorter than him but she still looked like she could handle herself. "You wouldn't be heading north, would you?"

Oz and Mo both turned to look at Sam, unsure what he wanted to do. He wasn't exactly sure what to do himself but eventually he nodded.

"Why?" he asked, honestly curious why she would ask them. They were armed but he doubted they looked all that formidable.

"Well, I'm heading that way too and I'd rather not go it alone," she said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, "so I was wondering if I could join up with you. My caravan isn't going any further..."

"Your caravan?"

"Oh, yes, sorry. I'm a caravan guard"

"So you can handle yourself in a fight?" Sam asked. She smiled.

"And then some" she answered cheekily. Sam looked at both Mo and Oz but neither said anything, although Oz had a slight look of concern on his face.

"I don't have to pay you or anything, do I?" he asked suspiciously. She laughed, the sound pure and unforced.

"No, no, if anything I should be paying you" she said.

"How about you 'guard' us and we'll consider it even?" he offered. She nodded and stuck out her hand.

"I'm Abigail, by the way. Abigail Winters. But everyone calls me Abby."

"Samael" said Sam, shaking her hand, "call me Sam."

Mo shook her hand, a grin of his own on his face, although it was clear what he was thinking of as he looked her up and down more than once. Oz shook her hand meekly, then looked away, deep in thought. Sam swore he heard him mumbling 'not part of the plan' over and over, but he couldn't be sure.

"So are you leaving now?" she asked. Sam nodded. "But it's getting dark..." she said, trailing off.

"See!" said Mo, as if she just proved him right.

"We've wasted enough time here" Sam grunted, then started walking again. The others followed, the setting sun on their sides, a small road leading in to the mountain range ahead of them stretching out in front of their feet.

Mo put his helmet on, a hissing sound coming from it as the suit fully pressurized. Sam did the same, although his suit wasn't pressurized so there was no hiss. Still, he turned the night vision on with a low setting and the darkened mountain lit up in front of him. He smiled. For the first time in months he was back out in the wastes, doing what came naturally. Ruling New Vegas was seemingly taking a bigger toll on him then he thought as he realised how much he missed this kind of adventure.

He had thought he was ready to settle down after Hoover Dam but right here, right now, he was glad to be proven wrong.

* * *

The room was an absolute mess as Abercrombie entered. Four bunk beds were lined up, two each, against parallel walls. There were clothes, under garments, uniforms, everything, scattered around the floor, including several empty bottles and what looked like scraps of mouldy food.

There were 3 young men lounging around the furthest bed from the captain, all bunched around a small radio, relaxing to some Pre-War tunes on the Enclave civilian radio station. They didn't even seem to notice him, which sparked his annoyance.

"Officer on deck!" he barked and two of the men jumped up, snapping in to a crisp salute. But the third, a wiry blonde, just looked up from the magazine he was reading, sighed and slowly joined them. Abercrombie checked the file again and was sad to see that that was his newest recruit.

"You two" he said, pointing at the other two, "out" he nodded towards the door. They saluted again and left, almost rushing out the door. The lower ranks usually didn't like being around officers and very few wanted to be around Abercrombie, although that seemed to be the normal reaction to him nowadays so he wasn't surprised.

"Corporal Hart?"

"What's this about?" asked the young man absently, yawning quite loudly. Abercrombie's eye twitched with annoyance.

"You've been transferred to my unit. I expect you to pack lightly and head to the hangar in 10 minutes"

"Excuse me?" Hart asked, seemingly surprised that Abercrombie would dare say such a thing. Abercrombie stepped up to him slowly, then swiftly grabbed two fist full's of the man's shirt, spun around and slammed the rather light man in to the closed door. "What the f-" he started.

"Listen carefully" Abercrombie snarled through clenched teeth, "you might have been able to breeze through the army up until now, but that ends here. You're an Irregular and you will show your commanding officer the respect he deserves"

Hart looked like he wanted to hit Abercrombie. He almost wished the young man would try it, but as he released him the young man just stared at him, like he was trying to stare him down.

"I've been transferred?"

"_Sir_" growled Abercrombie.

"I've been transferred..._sir_?" he asked, almost spitting the last word out, "I wasn't informed of this..."

"You're being _informed_ now" snapped Abercrombie. "Pack your things, I expect you in the hangar in ten minutes or I'll do more than throw your weak ass against a door"

Hart glowered at him, but moved around and started to sift through the assorted clothes on the floor, picking out clothes that were his. Abercrombie strode out of the room, still fuming.

He knew he could have, should have, handled that better. First impressions were everything, even in this line of work, and it seemed he had paved the foundation for a bad relationship with the man that, in all likelihood, would be the difference between his life and death at some point. But his lack of respect, lack of _protocol_...it just sent Abercrombie over the edge. How could you trust a man to watch your back, to do what he's told, if he can't even follow a simple rule like addressing a superior officer as sir? He started to realise now why the man had been transferred so many times, but unfortunately he knew he was stuck with him no matter what. The Council wanted him gone and the 2nd Irregulars was the furthest gone anyone could go. There was no getting out of his unit, short of coming home in a body bag. And nobody deserved that, not even this arrogant prick.

He sighed. _Hopefully the boys like him_ he thought, thinking about his men. He would see them soon, as the vertibird was going through pre-flight procedures now, but he had a bad feeling about this mission. Some of them weren't going to be coming that, he could feel it in his bones. But that was the job. He was a soldier and he followed his orders, even if he was hated by the people who gave them. He just hoped it was worth it this time.

* * *

Farilla strode through the market, one of her fine dresses draped over her well toned figure. She had gone several days without a man and, bored, had set off for the civilian markets to pass the time. There wasn't much there for someone like her; the stands were filled with relative junk, things that were rare in the wastes but rather common in the Enclave's Pre-War stocks, which were in better condition as well. Of course, most of the civilians didn't have access to those stocks, so they flocked to these markets every week to buy whatever crap the merchants had managed to dig up in their travels. She felt sorry for them, really. They didn't understand what they were missing out on.

But a part of her also envied them. They enjoyed such simple things, a skill that she had long since forgotten. Drenched in the finest things the Enclave had, she found little enjoyment in anything anymore, even her occasional acts of adultery. She realised that being locked in a loveless and ultimately unfulfilling marriage probably didn't help either.

Then she shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts. _What was she thinking?_ She had everything. A marriage to one of the most powerful men in the Enclave, everything she ever wanted literally at arm's reach. _She_ was the one others envied, not the other way around. Still, she felt like she was missing something and so turned her attention to the task she had come here for; finding another man. The soldiers were starting to bore her and the civilians, while less impressive, were generally more interesting.

She noticed a few well built men, probably miners, mechanics or some such, but they were too like the soldiers, bulked up losers with inflated egos. Then she spotted a particular man.

He wasn't anything special and, as she got a full look at him, she noticed he was in uniform. _A soldier_ she thought and tried to turn her attention to scouring the crowd again, but something drew her back. He wasn't physically impressive, he had a slightly chubby baby face and his hair was a mess, like someone had dyed a mop black and glued it to his scalp. But as she studied him she felt her heart skip a beat and, looking down, she saw her hands were shaking slightly. She smiled broadly then. _Finally_, she thought, _something different_.

She strode over to him and stood next to him, although he initially didn't say anything. He glanced at her, but looked too meek to say anything.

"Farilla Dushon" she said to him. He turned to look at her. His cheeks went slightly red as they locked eyes and he had to quickly look away. _How cute_, she thought. She froze. _Cute? What the hell has gotten in to me, _she thought?

"Steven Hughes" he mumbled. She smiled at him and he half smiled back, seemingly unsure what to do.

"Would you like to go somewhere to talk?" she asked him smoothly, a line she had practiced and repeated hundreds of times before. He nodded dumbly, then looked around.

"Where?" he managed to ask.

"Oh, I know a place..." she answered seductively and grabbed his hand, leading him towards an exit. She felt her heart beating faster as they continued walking hand in hand. _This is definitely going to be interesting,_ she thought.


	7. The Wolf

**Unfortunately I haven't been able to update this story lately because of the errors I'm sure you've all experienced at some point in recent time, but it's over so I can finally start updating again =]. Hope nyou enjoy the latest chapter, another should be coming shortly.**

* * *

The plains of Wyoming stretched out beneath them as Abercrombie looked out of the vertibird cockpit. Behind them the Stand stood resolutely, built into Casper Mountain itself, but it slowly got smaller and smaller as they headed west towards the safe house that Abercrombie had left his men in.

Eagle was also in the cockpit, dark goggles strapped over his eyes, his hands resting lazily on the flight controls, every so often moving to flick a switch here or turn a dial there. He had a headset on as well, same as Abercrombie, with headphones and a microphone snaking around his chin and resting a short distance from his mouth. He wasn't talking though, something that truly surprised Abercrombie. The man seemed to be all business when he was behind the controls. That gained him some respect in Abercrombie's book.

His other passenger was doing his best to lose respect, however. Corporal Hart was sitting in the rear compartment, small bag full of his things lying at his feet. His face had been etched in a permanent scowl ever since Abercrombie had met him and he had been sitting statue still ever since the vertibird took off; arms folded, shoulders up, glaring at the floor like he was trying to melt a hole through it.

Abercrombie had initially thought about offering some sort of apology, anything that could smooth their relationship over, but at this point he was just too annoyed to care. The man was insufferable and despite his incredible talent was likely the most arrogant and self-serving man in the entire Enclave. And Abercrombie had to admit that he wasn't used to that kind of personality from his men. Most would say yes without even hesitating. Of course, there were ones like Hannibal, but they were mostly harmless. Hart? He had the wrong kind of potential. The kind that got other people killed out in the wastes.

"10 minutes sir" said Eagle, his voice coming through Abercrombie's headset. Even with it on it was hard to hear, as the vertibird's engines were roaring, the sound seeming to come from everywhere and echoing into a crescendo in the metallic interior.

"Good. Let me know when we are in visual range" said Abercrombie into his microphone, patting the man on the shoulder.

"Wilco" Eagle replied in the Enclave pilot slang, turning back to focus on the skyline. Abercrombie nodded and stepped out of the cockpit, heading over to check the extra equipment he had brought. He knew it would all still be there, just like when he had checked before they left and after they were airbourne, but he always got like this in vertibirds. He was definitely a man who preferred his feet on the ground.

He checked the straps on Julio's empty tanks, re-opened the boxes of ammunition, still impressed he had managed to fit Grim's 3 compliments of minigun rounds into the vertibird's small cargo hold, then checked the medical supplies and general foodstuffs. It was all there, just like it had been 20 minutes ago.

He sighed loudly, although even he struggled to hear it over the engines. He really did hate to fly.

* * *

The last few days had gone by quickly for Sam and the others. The terrain didn't offer much for sights, being mostly mountain ranges and rocky outcrops, and wildlife was scarce in this part of the world, although considering some of the wildlife he knew of in the Mojave Sam thought that might be a good thing.

His new companions provided a little more flavour than Oz had. Mo, when he was in control, was doing his best to keep the group light, although most of his jokes ended with the group laughing at him rather than with him. The rare times that Patrick was in control, or that Sam thought he was in control as, with a helmet on, he had no way of seeing the man's face, he kept mostly to himself, moving ahead of the group. Abby was a talker, although she knew when to listen as well, and seemed, at least to Sam, to be the only other sane person here. He had appreciated that more then he thought he would.

Oz had changed though. He had taken to less talking, although that could have been because Sam had stopped bothering to ask questions, but he would also cast furtive glances at Abby from time to time and did his best to avoid any interaction with her. He had also taken to studying the Vault 16 map, despite most of it being burnt to ash, and he would regularly try to identify local landmarks with those on the map. His frustrated expressions seemed to show his lack of success, although it didn't stop him from trying.

This day had been just like the others; Mo had made jokes, Abby and Sam had discussed anything they could think of, Oz studied his map, the mountains rose around them like bars of a prison and the sun beat down on them mercilessly, trying to fry them like steaks. But it wasn't until they went past another unassuming corner of rock that things got interesting.

Stretched out on a rock, a little less than 20 metres from them, was a tanned man lying with his hands behind his head like he was sleeping, his short dark hair sticking out through the gaps in his fingers. He had long pants and what looked like sturdy shoes but all he had for a shirt was a leather vest, which showed his well toned body, seemingly tanned all over. He also had a pair of dark aviators covering his eyes, every so often reflecting the sun back into the eyes of one of the others.

Sam had held up his hand for the group to stop and, for a few moments, it didn't look like the man had noticed them, then his head craned up and he looked over, a small smile crossing his lips. He leapt to his feet, threw a rifle and a pack of his back, picked up a thick stick that had been lying next to him and started walking towards them.

"That's far enough" called Sam when the man was within about 10 metres. The man stopped and leant forward, using the stick as support. It was well worn and made of dark wood, standing almost at the man's shoulder. He was big too, roughly the same size as both Sam and Mo, although his clearly defined muscles made him look stronger.

"You're late" he shouted, looking directly at Oz.

"You're in the wrong spot" Oz snapped, taking a step forward and pointing a finger at the man, "I said 2 days north of Ely...it's been almost 5"

The man shrugged. "I had other business" he said absently.

"So you agreed?"

"I came, didn't I" the man countered, looking across at each of the others individually, "You going to introduce me?"

Oz introduced all of them, starting with Mo and ending with Sam. The man paid particular attention to him.

"This is the guy you mentioned in the letter?" he asked, nodding at Sam, "the _Courier_" he finished with a small smile, like it was a joke of a name. Sam felt a twang of irritation but buried it quickly.

"Yeah" Oz answered, "your _employer_"

"Well, you know us" called Sam, interrupting their little back and forth, "but who exactly are you?"

The man looked at Oz. "This, everyone, is Isaac de Wolfe," Oz said, looking broadly at all of them, "but known locally as..."

"The Wolf" growled Patrick, removing his helmet to reveal his face, once again scrunched up in to a scowl. He looked over at Oz. "I'm not working with this man" he said coldly, then strode back down the path they had come.

"I know you, you know me" said Isaac, forcing their attention back to him, moving the stick back and forth to indicate the two groups as he did, "so can I come closer now?"

Sam was still wary, but he nodded and Isaac strode over. "I've heard about you" he said to Sam as he got closer. He looked him up and down and then seemed to shrug. "I thought you'd be taller"

Sam ignored the slight and turned to Oz. "What do we need this one for?"

"I'm a scout" said Isaac brightly, either not realising or not caring that Sam had tried to ignore him, "and the only chance any of you have of getting past the Serans"

Sam again looked at Oz. "Serans?"

Isaac laughed then. "Oh, Oz" he said, clapping the man on the shoulder, "you've been holding back again, haven't you?"

Oz shrugged his arm off angrily, then looked away from the both of them. "Maybe a little..." he said softly, trailing off. Sam didn't bother asking, he just glared at the man until he noticed. Oz sighed. "You remember the raiders that attacked my original group? Yeah, well they're more than that. They're a group of tribals; vicious, savage and territorial. They worship some god named Sera..."

"Hence, _Serans_" added Isaac with a knowing nod.

"...yeah. Everything in south Idaho is their territory," Oz continued, "so once we get out of these mountains we need help to get past them. Isaac is one of the best and he knows the area...we need him, Sam" he finished, looking away again.

Sam nodded. "Is he, at least, the last one?"

Oz shook his head. "There's one more I wanted" he said, "Isaac is good but nobody has gone as deep into Seran territory as we're planning to and returned. We need something special. We need someone who can sense..." he was cut off as Isaac groaned loudly.

"You're talking about Original, aren't you?" he asked, rolling his eyes as Oz nodded, "You know the man's a coward...and a nut. What _possible_ use is he going to be?"

"He can sense people coming. You don't think that's useful?" Oz countered, obviously getting a little annoyed at being second guessed.

"Would someone like to fill me in?" Sam asked. Oz turned to look at him, throwing a filthy look at Isaac as he did.

"Original Jones is...unusual, but he can sense when people are near. It's an advantage and I planned on having as many of those as I could find"

"You forgot to mention he's a gibbering idiot on a good day" injected Isaac.

"He is what he is" snapped Oz. Sam raised his hands for silence.

"We need this man to get to the Vault?" he asked Oz. Oz nodded. "And I take it you know where he is?" he asked Isaac.

The man cocked his head to the side a little. "I might..."

Sam reached around to his lower back. Isaac took a half step back, his own hand cautiously moving towards some hidden weapon he had stashed on his person. Even Oz moved backwards a little, unsure of what was going to happen after the INN incident. Sam glanced at the both of them curiously, then pulled out a small pouch. He tossed it to Isaac who caught it deftly, the pouch jingling as it landed in his hand.

"I take it you don't work for free," he said as Isaac opened the pouch. Even with the aviators on Sam could see his eyebrows raise in shock. "You'll get the other half when we're done" he added and, if they could have, Isaac's eyebrows would have gone higher. He looked at Sam to see if he was serious, then at the pouch filled with at least a few hundred caps, then back at Sam whose expression remained unchanged.

Stoic, stone-like and infinitely serious.

Isaac smiled. "I'm your man" he said, offering Sam his hand. Sam shook it, but kept hold of it after they were done.

"Now, please, take us to this Original" he said softly, but with a quiet authority. Isaac looked at Oz like he had won some kind of contest, then shrugged.

"You're the boss" Isaac said absently, opening up his vest and putting the pouch in an inside pocket, "We going now?"

Sam nodded. "After we get Patrick we'll go." He turned to head after the man but saw Abby had her hand up.

"I've got it" she said brightly, then she leaned in to whisper, "This needs a woman's touch" She winked and headed back down the path.

"Hell of a woman" commented Isaac.

"Hell of an enigma" muttered Oz.

Sam didn't know which one of them was more right.

* * *

Abby strode back down the path, finding obvious signs that Patrick had gone this way. His helmet looked like it had been thrown off to the right and his rifle and pack were simply dumped in the middle of the small road. She continued walking and eventually found him.

He was on his knees, his arms resting lazily at either side, his head down like he was asleep. She didn't know which one was in control, having been explained his unique situation several times already, so she went with who she hoped was in control.

"Mo?"

His head turned, slowly, and for a moment she thought Patrick might rear up and tear her head off. But as he turned further she saw, to her great relief, that it was Mo. His hair was wet and stuck to his forehead, likely sweating in that suit of armour, but his eyes were red and raw. She realised suddenly that he had probably been crying. He didn't say anything, just continued to stare at her, and after a moment of awkward silence she spoke.

"Are you ok?" she asked hesitantly. He turned away and she heard him suck in a big breath, then release it with a long sigh.

"Yeah," he whispered, so softly she almost missed it, "it's just hard sometimes, you know? For the both of us..."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked, kneeling down next to him and putting her hand on his shoulder.

"Patrick would rather kill you" he said suddenly. Her fears rekindled and she made to move away, until she saw him looking at her, a slight smile on his face. "Don't worry. He's easier to lock up when he's pissed"

"Are you sure?" she asked, unable to mask her concern. He nodded.

"You know what's funny? He was the one that used to be control," he said absently, "I only came out to get drunk and work on computers." He looked away. "I think I preferred that..."

"You liked it?"

He sighed. "In there," he said, tapping his head, "it's like a dream. You can do whatever you want, you're basically a god...and the best part is...you don't have to deal with reality, with issues from the past..." He laughed solemnly. "Patrick hates it. He refuses to stop feeling, to give up what he calls 'humanity'. I don't know why. All I've felt out here is misery..."

"There's some good out here" she offered, although she had to admit she wasn't very convincing, even to herself.

"Yeah, but it's not enough. And...every so often the past comes back and slaps you in the face, right when you think you're finally through it all. I hate it..." he sighed again, "why _him_?" he suddenly screamed, his voice cracking as he dipped his head again.

Her face showed her confusion. "Who? Isaac?"

He nodded. "He was at Tonopah" he said softly. She didn't know the full back-story about that, but knew from Sam that something bad had gone down there.

"What happened?" she asked, putting her hand back on his shoulder. She didn't know if he meant to or not, but he slightly leaned in to it.

"We did all the wrong things for all the right reasons..." he whispered. He sniffled, then rubbed a gauntleted hand across his nose. "I'd rather just forget it" he finally finished.

"You know, Oz mentioned you weren't always like this" she said, partly trying to change the subject, "if you don't mind me asking...is Tonopah what caused it"

He laughed. "No, but I've always wondered how we didn't pick up a new person after that..." he sighed, "I was taken by glorified slavers, my enemy, and tortured for secrets..." he said, then more softly, "...then for fun."

"I'm...sorry" she managed to say, rather lamely. He looked up at the setting sun, the bottom just starting to reach the tip of the mountains.

"You know what's strange?" he asked, but he didn't wait for her answer, "I don't remember them. The slavers, I mean. All I remember of it is flashes of black and white, over and over, glints of silver and blue and green...I remember the green, they looked like eyes, like something from a horror story...but I don't remember any of the slavers..." he sniffled again, then smiled. "I've never told anyone about that. It feels...good. Thank you" he hugged her, then stood up and headed up the trail to the others. "You coming?" he called back after he had reclaimed his scattered equipment.

She nodded dumbly, still lost in thought. _So he's the one_, she thought. _This just got a whole lot more interesting_...

* * *

Sam knew it would be bad when he saw the smoke on the horizon but now, as he and Isaac lay flat on the top of a ridge overlooking the small village, he saw it was worse than he could have imagined.

The village didn't look very big, consisting of 6-7 buildings spread out in a rough circle, all the doors facing inwards. There was a watchtower in the middle, likely built to warn against danger, although it hadn't seem to have done much good for these people. Strangely, there was also what looked like firewood heaped together in two large piles on opposite sides of the tower.

Everywhere he looked he could see bodies. People gunned down in the doors of their homes, women lying in pools of blood, he even saw the body of a child here and there. It almost made him sick.

"Great" muttered Isaac, the pair both looking at the village through binoculars. Sam tried to follow what he was looking at and saw it; a group of 4 armed men, all in long black coats with a peculiar white 'I' painted on the back, were herding a few still living people in to the largest of the buildings, a hall or a barn, towards the back of the village. There was another small group, although this time there was a man with a jagged scar running down his forehead and ending just above his chin. The way he was shouting and the way others were moving around him clearly made him the leader.

"I've got 12" said Sam.

"13" corrected Isaac.

"Where?"

"There's two in that watchtower" Isaac said.

Sam turned his binoculars towards the tower and, sure enough, saw two outlines of men, the sun setting behind them. Even worse, he could now see the large mounted machine gun they had in front of them. That would have been a fearsome weapon at ground level but elevated, and with a clear line of sight stretching well outside the village ring, it could dish out a hell of a lot of damage and gave whoever these men were a clear advantage; a fact that Sam was loath to admit. He hated these kinds of fights.

"Alright, let's get back to the others" he said, slowly crawling back.

"Wait" hissed Isaac. He pointed at the far building, the one where the men were keeping everyone. "You might as well see who we're trying to save" he explained.

Sam looked through his binoculars. A scrawny man was being dragged from the building and was thrown roughly in front of Scarface. Scarface said something that made everyone around him laugh and the scrawny man, if this was Original, tried to crawl in to a ball. A man to Scarface's right came in with a left hook, sending Original sprawling to the ground. Everyone laughed at that as well. Scarface waved his hand and two of his men picked up Original by his arms, dragging the man kicking and screaming back into the hall.

"I've seen enough" said Sam coldly and both men crawled down from the ridge, careful not to be noticed, then hurried back to the others.

"How does it look?" asked Patrick, his helmet off, a glare directed at Isaac.

"Not good" said Sam solemnly. "We counted 13"

"And that's a rough estimate, really" added Isaac, "there could have been more in the buildings"

"That's not the problem" said Sam, looking them all over, "in the centre of the town is a tower that has a heavy machine gun on it. It could tear us all to pieces in a matter of seconds if we can't take it down."

Abby's mouth was open, seemingly in shock. She clearly wasn't used to this kind of fighting, although he wasn't surprised. Being a caravan guard usually wasn't all that tough. Patrick was stoic, although he seemed to be thinking something through. Oz looked down, disheartened, like they had already lost. That was a bad sign.

"They've rounded the survivors up" continued Sam, "And if we hurry we might be able to get to them before they do any more harm"

"Well, there's no rush" said Isaac suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, Sam's eyes narrowing.

"What?" he asked coldly. Isaac's head tilted a little, as if it was a stupid question.

"We've got until midday tomorrow, at least"

"And how," growled Patrick, "do you figure that?"

"The symbol on their backs," Isaac said, as if it was obvious, "the _I_ symbol"

"Inquisitors" muttered Oz.

Sam rounded on him. "You knew about this?"

"No," he snapped, "I didn't know anything about this...but I know about them"

"And?"

"Isaac's right. They won't kill anyone until midday tomorrow at least" he said.

"I'm going to need more than that" sighed Sam.

"They're a religious cult," Oz explained, "Their headquarters is somewhere deep in the NCR. They believe in the one true god, so they say, and they hunt down 'abominations'. I've never heard of them this far east though..."

"Probably heard about Original" interrupted Isaac, "They offer good rewards for that kind of thing and he's just the kind of fish they would sail out to catch, if you know what I mean" he added with a grin that was totally inappropriate.

"So what does this have to do with midday?" Sam asked, still a little confused.

"Well," started Oz, "they only kill people when the sun is highest in the sky. 'Sinners' have to pass through the fires to reach heaven that way" he said sarcastically.

Isaac snorted. "Is that before or after they burn them at the stake?"

"Wait...they're going to burn them?" Sam asked.

"Didn't you see the stakes they were building? Next to the tower?"

Sam stopped and thought back, remembering the large piles of wood. "Those piles of wood?"

Isaac tapped his nose. "They're not finished yet, but they will be. And when they are they'll toss everyone on, sit back and just watch..."

Sam nodded and went quiet, thinking it over. It was a hell of a risk leaving people with anyone that would burn others alive, but it would be a bigger risk to assault that group and particularly that tower without a proper plan. Not to mention the sun had almost set, so they would have to go in the dark and he doubted anyone but himself and maybe Patrick had night vision.

He looked around, everyone seemingly lost in their own thoughts. Patrick was nodding, then frowned, as if he didn't like what he had figured out. Isaac was playing with a small rock with his feet, totally unconcerned. Abby looked worried but somewhat determined. Oz was still looking down, that defeatist look on his face again.

"All right" Sam finally said and everyone looked up at him, "We'll stay here for the night. I'll give you the plan at dawn and then we'll head out. Isaac, you've got first watch"

Isaac didn't look impressed but nodded regardless.

"Can't you just give us the plan now?" Abby asked.

"No," said Sam, a wry smile curling around his lips, "because I haven't thought of it yet"


	8. Harts and Minds

Abercrombie stood in the door of the safe house, Corporal Hart behind him, and watched his men lounging around, playing cards and just generally causing mischief. There were several open bottles of liquor, including a few empty ones, and Hannibal in particular looked drunk, dancing as he cooked on the squad's homemade barbeque; a flamer jury rigged with a metal plate. It wasn't much, but it got the job done.

The safe house itself wasn't much either. A bunker they had made themselves, shoddily, it's walls were made from whatever scrap metal they could dig up at the time. Some of the hallways weren't straight, narrowing or widening at random intervals, and they only had 4 rooms; the main common room they were in now which contained, two bunk rooms, each with toilets, and a small room in the back with a bunch of chairs they used as their briefing room. Strangely, now that Abercrombie was back, he felt more at home here than he did in the Stand.

Leon, Mike, Grim and Charity were playing cards and, as he laughed at some joke, Leon's pure white eyes strayed towards the door. He was smoking a cigar and almost lost it as his jaw dropped, then he snapped to his feet.

"Captain on deck!" he shouted, breaking in to a crisp salute. The others immediately stopped what they were doing and gave their own salutes. Even Hannibal had stopped moving, although he was saluting with the spatula he was holding.

Abercrombie returned it. "At ease" he said and everyone settled back in to what they had been doing. Leon put down his cards and strode over to him.

"Good to see you chief" he said, chewing on his cigar a little, "Almost got worried you weren't coming back for a while there." Then he looked over the others. "Sorry about this...I didn't expect you for a few days..."

Abercrombie clapped him on the shoulder and gave him a small nod. "It's fine Leon. They deserve this and more"

Leon nodded back. "What took you so long anyway? And who..." he leaned to the right a little, looking around Abercrombie and glancing up and down Hart, "...is this?"

"This...soldier" said Abercrombie, struggling to get that last word out, "is Corporal William Hart, our new medical officer"

"Ah, well, it's nice to have you aboard" said Leon, offering his hand. Hart took it, reluctantly, and made a face like he was now infected with a virus or disease. Leon gave him a quizzical look, but turned back to Abercrombie.

"We've got new orders" said Abercrombie. Leon smiled.

"No more Deathclaws?" he asked hopefully.

"No more Deathclaws" echoed Abercrombie, "Now get the men together, I don't like repeating myself"

"Yes, sir!" he said happily, snapping to a crisp salute. He then moved away, talking to the men, pointing them towards the small briefing room at the back. A few grumbles as Mike cheerfully pocketed his winnings from cards, but they all made their way towards the back.

"_He_ doesn't have to say sir" muttered Hart. Abercrombie rounded on him and the younger man took a half step back.

"That's because he earned it" whispered Abercrombie coldly, "now fall in."

Hart shot him a glare, but slowly picked up his bag and moved towards the briefing room. Abercrombie let out a deep breath, trying to push the anger out of his system. He didn't know exactly what it was that angered him so much about that boy. Abercrombie knew himself all too well; he knew he demanded respect and preferred to follow the rules. But Hart had a point, why exactly didn't he feel the same with his men? The risks were the same, that breaking rules could lead to death, but still, for some reason, he didn't feel anything when his men blatantly ignored them. He even had to admit to himself that he had encouraged it from time to time.

_Does that make me a hypocrite,_ he thought suddenly?

He shook his head, trying to rid himself of these thoughts. There was no time for them now, not when his men were waiting for him.

The briefing room was much like the rest of the small complex; walls made of mismatched metal, rust forming around the corners and edges ceiling, a few solitary lights providing barely enough light to see. On one side sat a board, writing implements sitting in the small shelf beneath it, and the rest of the room was dominated by desks and chairs, somewhat evenly spaced apart, now filled with his men.

Abercrombie knew them all well, likely better then they knew themselves. Leon Graves, his second, was sitting in the middle, his strange eyes focused on his captain. Grimlock and Julio Raimond were on Leon's right, sitting next to each other as usual. They looked like the brothers they were, although not in the way most would think. Grim was more robot than man at this point and Julio himself had a robotic mouthpiece that he needed to breathe safely.

Beaumont Hooper was sitting behind them, stoic and silent. Charity Innes was on Beau's left, the blonde woman looking disinterested as usual. But then, she had always been the toughest to read. To her left was Hannibal, sprawled out and the most casual looking of the group. Mike Pullen was further along, the veteran still counting the money he had won from cards. Next to him sat Hollow, the tribal scout Abercrombie had inducted in to his unit despite some grumblings from the Council.

And behind them all, tucked away in a darkened corner, sat Corporal William Hart, scowl still etched on his face, although he was at least looking at Abercrombie this time.

He cleared his throat, loudly, and all eyes turned towards him. "As you can all guess by us being in the briefing..." he looked around at the mismatched walls, the rust along most of the seams, the slow drip of water seeping through some unseen crack, "_room_, we have new orders"

"So no more Deathclaws, sir?" asked Hannibal with a smile.

"No more Deathclaws" repeated Abercrombie. The relieved sighs hit him like a wave. "Stow that" he snapped, looking them all over with an icy glare, "We are soldiers of the Enclave, our orders are the word of God himself, our meals are feasts, our pay checks fortunes. We are the best...and we _don't_ think otherwise, understand?"

"Yes chief!" said Hannibal with a grin, snapping in to a stiff salute. The others were all nodding their agreement. Abercrombie nodded at Hannibal and the slight man relaxed again.

"We're going to the Mojave on a standard retrieval mission"

"Who's our target?" asked Julio, his voice sounding more robotic through his mouthpiece than Grim's ever did.

"I'm sure you've all heard of him..." Abercrombie said, looking them all over, "he's gone by many names over the years, but we know him best as...the Regenerating Man"

Every man and woman in the room felt their jaw hit the ground at the same time. Mike stopped counting his winnings, Charity leaned forward, Hannibal straightened up, even Hart managed to drop his scowl for a few minutes to show his surprise and disbelief.

"Erik...you can't be serious?" started Mike, "it's just a story they tell to keep morale up"

"Two days ago I said the very same thing" said Abercrombie, "but these orders come from the Council themselves. This is real"

Charity raised her hand. Abercrombie nodded at her to speak. "Do we even know what he looks like?" she asked.

"Surprisingly...yes" he answered, reaching into his coat and pulling out the folded mission report the General had given him. "The Enclave has done extensive recon on this man and, though they don't know his current alias, they do have several photographs." He opened the file, took out the photographs and handed them to Leon, who began passing them back so everyone got a look.

"Is he alone, sir?" Grim asked in his deep voice, still looking through the several photos he had been passed.

"Reports suggest he is with several companions and they are currently making their way in to southern Idaho."

"So why don't we just go to Idaho, sir?" asked Leon. Everyone seemed interested in this question.

"We have secondary objectives..." Abercrombie started, opening the file again and flicking through to the relevant section, "his group is currently heading towards what is rumoured to be a cache of Pre-War technology. This technology interests the Council _greatly_, so we'll be dropped in the Mojave behind our target, follow him to his destination and then take him and the equipment back to the Stand. Any other questions?"

Abercrombie looked around the room but nobody moved to speak, most still studying the various photographs of the Regenerating Man. It almost made him smile. They were of poor quality, typically out of focus or directed at something else and merely catching the man in the background by pure chance. Still, he had studied them almost as hard as his unit was now; it wasn't every day that you were given the chance to alter history itself.

"Right, pack your things and fall out. We leave in a half hour" he said crisply, turning and striding towards the door but stopping just before it, "I trust _all_ of those photos will be returned?"

They nodded, smiled, blinked, whatever it was that each of them did to show their agreement. Abercrombie didn't believe them, but he didn't care. After years of winning battles but losing the wars he was willing to give them this one small thing, this one glimmer of hope that they could hold on to. He owed them that much, at least.

* * *

The vertibird landed gently in the small clearing, it's landing gear dipping slightly as they took the full weight of the vehicle, sparse patches of grass flattened by the rotor blades. Abercrombie was the first out. The sun was beginning to set behind them but there was still enough light to see. He swept the area with his plasma rifle then motioned for the rest came out.

His team knew what to do, having entered and exited vertibirds in dangerous locations hundreds of times. Grim, his 7 foot figure silhouetted against the cabin lights of the vertibird behind him, took up position just to the left of the rear ramp they were all piling out from. His minigun, held effortlessly in his cybernetic arms, scanned the surroundings.

Leon came out next, jumping to the right and doing the same as Grim, his white eyes scanning the surroundings. The rest followed, forming a rough circle about 10 metres in diameter, all carefully watching the small, flat area for any signs of movement.

Only Hart looked out of place, half striding, half stumbling out the back of the vertibird, looking around like he was waiting for someone to tell him what to do. Abercrombie pulled him down roughly, thanking the gods for the boy that there wasn't any enemies around. He had seen too many men die from stupidity like that in the Floridian and it wasn't ever something he wanted to see again.

Of course, they all knew there was nothing alive around them. Abercrombie wasn't stupid and had made sure Eagle swept the area with the vertibirds thermal cameras, which came up negative. But still, Abercrombie wasn't stupid, and even in a desert like the Mojave there was plenty of dangerous people and creatures in the wastes that could conceal their heat signatures, so he had his men perform the standard unloading procedure as if they were loading out in enemy territory.

"LZ is clear" he said in to his helmet, "Eagle is cleared, see you at the rendezvous point"

"Wilco leader" came Eagle's crackled voice over the helmet communications, "heading to rendezvous point alpha. Good hunting"

The vertibird's engines whirred to life, lifting the bulbous vehicle off the ground. Abercrombie gave a small wave and the cockpit dipped slightly in a nodding motion. It turned slightly, then its rotors turned forwards and it crept away in to the horizon, heading north.

"Alright" he barked, turning to his men, "you know the drill. Hollow," he turned to look at the tribal, his braided hair falling neatly past his face and down the front of his armour, "you're on point. Find the trail and quickly, we're losing daylight as it is and I want to get this started today. Mike is on rearguard. Everyone else, spread out and stay sharp."

His men were veterans and quickly adopted a spread out formation, Hollow in front, Mike in back, Grim towering over everyone in the middle. The only one that looked out of place, again, was Hart.

"You" said Abercrombie, pointing at him, "don't leave my side." He had tried to say it nicely, or as nice as he could, but it still came out sounding like a cross between a grunt and a bark. He shook his head, angry at himself, but didn't bother to see Hart's response. He had a feeling he knew exactly what it would be.

Hart glared at Abercrombie's back as the bastard turned to head off with the rest of his men. He hated this assignment more than he hated his usual assignments. At least then he could just laze around until he got transferred again. He doubted that was an option this time.

"Is it always so hard?" he sighed to himself. A hand clapped him on the shoulder, making him jump. He turned, annoyed, to see who it was and came face to face with the white eyes of Abercrombie's second, Leon.

"Cheer up" the man said with a grin, "he's hard on everyone the first few weeks"

"No he's not" grunted a voice behind the pair and the blonde woman moved past them, shouldering her way past Hart without bothering to look at him. She wasn't stunningly attractive, with a fringe covering one of her eyes, short cut hair and a rough looking face, but she was the only woman around. Hart decided to file her under 'maybe'.

"Now, now, play nice children" came another voice, slightly amused, deep and rumbling like thunder. Hart turned to look and had to crane his neck to meet the eyes of the giant machine-man. Hart knew who he was, of course. Everyone in the Stand did. Long Haul Grimlock, legendary figure of the Enclave, hero of the Floridian, saviour of his people time and time again. Mutated, half-human freak if you asked Hart. Or anyone at the Stand these days, really. _Proves fame is fleeting, no matter what you're famous for,_ thought Hart.

"You heard Grim," Leon said, "Charity...apologize" he finished, like he was ordering an animal around.

"Go to hell" she answered irritably.

"Sit, roll over" said a skinnier man ahead of her, the smallest of the group and the only one, apart from Abercrombie, in combat armour. He had a grin across his face as he turned back to look at her.

"Keep your eyes on yourself you crazy bastard" she snapped.

He cocked his head a little to the side, his grin turning in to more of a wry smile. "You know," he said ruefully, "One of these days you're really going to have to stop flirting with me. It's...unprofessional"

She snorted and walked faster, the slight man's laughter seemingly spurring her on. Leon clucked his tongue.

"Now look what you've done Hannibal"

"What?" Hannibal asked innocently.

"What did I just say?" growled Grim.

"To be fair, big man," started Hannibal, "I'm clearly insane"

"That's a fact" grumbled Grim.

"Knock it off!" barked Abercrombie from further up. Hart saw him, striding just a few metres behind that damn tribal. How in the hell he ever got a commission in the Enclave Hart would never know, filthy unclean mutant that he was. "And where the hell is Hart?"

"Back here, sir" shouted Leon, "just introducing him around" He gripped Hart's shoulders and began pushing him forward. "Best you get up there before he gets truly pissed" he whispered.

Hart didn't much care what Abercrombie thought but he didn't feel like dealing with more of the old man's anger, so he quickened his pace until he was next to Abercrombie.

The tribal had his head down, staring at the ground, when he suddenly stopped and raised his fist. A few of the others copied the sign and the entire group stopped. The tribal knelt down and everyone followed him again, taking a knee and keeping their eyes on their surroundings, weapons at the ready. Abercrombie carefully made his way up to the tribal.

"What is it Hollow?" he asked.

"Found trail" the tribal said absently, his thick accent proving English wasn't his first language, his mind still pre-occupied on the ground. "3...maybe 4 days old"

Hart heard Abercrombie curse. "I hoped we'd be closer..." the captain muttered. The tribal merely shrugged.

* * *

Abercrombie looked around, at his men, crouched and ready for anything, at the rapidly darkening surroundings, the mountains that rose up around them nothing more than silhouettes with the sun now setting behind them.

"How much further can we go tonight?" he asked Hollow. The tribal looked around at the ground and the darkening sky.

"Not far" he finally said, "safely" he added. Abercrombie sighed. He knew the man was right.

"Alright, find us a place to camp" he ordered, "we'll pick this up in the morning..."

* * *

Farilla rolled to her side, feeling content for the first time in as long as she could remember. So content that it brought a smile to her face, a grin even. That made her frown. Grinning like an idiot was hardly what a proper lady like her would do, should do. But as the man beside her groaned slightly in his sleep, she couldn't help the smile from returning.

Steven. He said his name was Steven. Why oh why this mousy man made her feel better than any of the other hunks did she didn't know; and, honestly, didn't want to know. But the fact remained; he was the best she had had for quite a while.

A buzzing came from the bedside table and he stirred, tiredly rubbing at his eyes as she turned the alarm off.

"Sleep well?" he asked with a sheepish grin, like a boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar by the exact person he was hoping for.

She nodded with that same smile from before, which she knew from experience would be taking his breath away. "I think it's time for you to leave though" she said kindly. Kinder then she usually did, she realised.

He looked downcast for a moment, only a moment, but it still stopped her heart for what felt like a minute and sank her stomach down to her feet. Then he half smiled and all her bad feelings went away. "You don't want your husband to find out...I understand" he said, swinging his legs from the bed. He grabbed his pants off the floor and tugged them on before standing and doing the button up. He grabbed his shirt and made to leave.

"When will I see you again?" she squeaked suddenly, her voice high pitched and girlish. She hated herself for it, this show of weakness, of _emotion_, but as much as she wanted to scowl and shake her head all she could do was look at him expectantly.

"Uh...soon" he answered hesitantly, "I'll meet you in the market on Saturday?" he offered.

She nodded. "It's a date" she joked lamely. He laughed a little, probably due to courtesy and nothing else, but it still made her feel validated for some reason.

He strode to the door, stuck his head out to check no one was watching, then looked back at her. He put his open palm up to his face and blew her a kiss, disappearing behind the door barely after it had left his lips.

She still caught it lamely though, one hand outstretched like she might drop the invisible sign of love. That made her angrier than everything else that had happened and she tossed that kiss on the floor, which only made her angrier as she realised she was throwing something invisible and unreal.

_What the hell is happening to me_, she thought?

She knew one thing, at least. She wasn't as interested in finding out as she was when she met him.


	9. The Plan

The rifle stock hit the man in the mouth with a loud crack, likely breaking his jaw. Sam winced at the sound but had the presence of mind to catch his body before it hit the dirt; he didn't need to make any _more_ noise.

"Oi, Roy, you hear that?" a voice asked, high pitched. Young.

Another man emerged from around the corner of the building, a big smile on his face, his mouth open as if he was just about to say something. Sam grabbed him from behind, clamped his hand over his mouth, then slashed his knife across the man's throat. The man thrashed for a moment, kicking out on instinct. His movements slowed, eventually coming to a stop, and Sam lowered him to the ground.

He picked his rifle off the ground and slung it over his back, taking out his grenade launcher in the same process. He opened the single barrelled weapon and stuck one of the cone shaped rounds in to it, and in that moment his eyes met the dying man's.

He looked young, probably still a boy, probably still a virgin. His eyes were a mixture of shock and pleadings. His mouth was opening and closing like a fish out of water, probably trying to say something, but Sam knew there was nothing left to say it with. The only thing keeping that boy's head on was his spine.

But the most horrifying part, at least to Sam, was that he couldn't take his eyes away from the dying boy's. No matter how hard he tried he just couldn't move, like he was in a trance.

This is why he had left the west, he thought, why he had headed east and become a courier. The war between the technology hoarding Brotherhood of Steel and the bureaucratic New California Republic had reached new heights and there weren't many places left unaffected. Fighting was constant, even more constant than usual in the wastes, and dead bodies threatened to choke many of the major roads.

That wasn't why he had left, though. He didn't care about the soldiers that died; they knew what they signed up for, knew the risks. No, it was the burnt out villages, the sacked farms, the shallow, mass graves of women and children that forced Sam to leave. He couldn't face it. He didn't understand how anyone could.

And why were they even fighting, really? So that one of them could control this or that piece of technology? So their bosses could look at a point on a map and say "That's ours!"? It was all so pointless.

Couriering had seemed so much easier. Take a package here, kill a radscorpion there, maybe fight off a raider or two every once and a while. Easy work. But most importantly, peaceful work. It almost made him laugh, now that he thought about it. How far from the truth that had turned out to be.

He shook his head, breaking his trance with the dead boy and shaking the thoughts from his head. This wasn't the time for it. Not when there was killing to be done.

With a flick of his wrist he snapped the launcher shut and headed forward. The boy had emerged from around a corner of a white building, which Sam knew was on the eastern part of the village. He poked his head out slightly, checking there was no one else around, then ducked across the road to a spot between two other buildings, the area heavily shaded and perfect for a hiding spot.

The small alley only lasted another few metres, opening in to the large field that dominated the middle of the village. Sam looked out, careful not to be seen by the men patrolling the area. The sun was high in the sky, only an hour or so before midday, and it wasn't hard to make out the black shapes of the Inquisitors walking the area.

They had finished building the stakes, at least from what Sam could tell, as there was a clear platform and design to it rather than the pile of wood he saw yesterday. But he wasn't here for the stakes.

He looked up and to his left, his eyes locking on the guard tower. The two men were lounging, laughing at some joke, their large gun hanging loosely on its supports. He squinted, trying to judge the distance. When he was satisfied he turned his attention to the others.

Patrick and Abigail were setting up at the south end of town. Sam had already seen a few silver glints from Patrick's armour, his heart jumping in to his throat as he thought the tower guards might have seen it. But every time they stayed oblivious. Still, it wasn't good to push one's luck, so Sam was glad when Abby noticed him and gave him the thumbs up; their' ready' signal. Sam returned it, then looked across the field.

Isaac was supposed to be set up on the east side of the town, although Sam saw no sign of him. He cursed and tried the surrounding areas, but still nothing. This was the last thing he needed; the plan depended enough on luck as it was without someone deciding to go freelance. But just as he was starting to consider circling around the field to check up on the trapper he spotted the tanned man, who gave him a thumbs up.

So that was it, everyone was ready. Strangely it didn't stop his beating heart, or his hands from shaking. He clenched his teeth. _Better to get it over with_, he thought.

He hefted the grenade launcher, locking the stock in to the crook of his shoulder. He flicked up a small sliver of metal on top of the barrel; the weapon's 'sight', and took aim at the tower. His finger began to squeeze the trigger.

_Don't miss_, he suddenly thought. If his heart had been in his throat then it well and truly jumped out of his mouth at that. But he couldn't stop his finger and, after a dull thump and a bit of recoil, he saw the small grenade sail out towards the tower.

Time seemed to slow, the grenade moving excruciatingly slow. The guards, beginning to turn to look at the noise. Patrick, surging to his feet with a mighty roar, barely moving or making a sound at all. The grenade, beginning to sail over the rails on the tower, looking like it was going to go right through the tower without ever hitting it. Sam's heart stopped beating.

Then it all rushed back into reality.

The grenade was off the mark, but luckily it wasn't long. It landed slightly short, exploding on the bottom corner of the tower. The shockwave sent one of the guards tumbling out, his screams cut off as he hit the ground face first. The second scrambled up, a look of pure terror on his face, and reached for the gun. But before he could reach it the supports of the tower broke with a thunderous crack and it toppled over, smashing in to pieces just in front of where Isaac was set up.

The entire field was deathly still for a moment, the rest of the Inquisitors just gawping with surprise at the broken tower. Patrick was the one that broke it, a mighty roar tearing from his lips, amplified through his helmets speakers, as he got to his feet and began spraying the area with fire. Several went down, but they managed to regroup and began making a counter-push towards Patrick and Abby, obviously thinking that was where the attack on the tower had come from. The pair ducked behind cover and began exchanging fire with the black clad enemy.

Sam took his rifle off his back and, with a weapon in each hand, he sprinted forward, diving for a wooden cart just to the left of the alley. He heard a few bullets thud in to the wooden vehicle, so he knew they had seen him.

He left his rifle on the ground and opened his grenade launcher to load in another shell. _Strange_, he thought as he noticed his hands weren't shaking anymore. He flicked his wrist, closing the launcher with a click, then poked his head out from behind the wagon just long enough to get an idea of the situation.

Patrick and Abby were still pinned down, while the Inquisitors had taken cover around various other wagons and boxes scattered around the field. But there was a sizable group who was using the tower as cover and it was this group that was firing on Sam.

He took several quick, deep breaths, gripped the launcher as tight as he could, reared up and fired all in the same motion. The grenade flew high and true, landing behind the Inquisitors' cover. In the enclosed space the shrapnel alone would have killed them all, but the concussive force of the explosion separated limbs from bodies in a gory fountain of blood. A solitary arm, or leg, Sam couldn't tell which, was shot up in to the air and landed with a squelch somewhere on the other side of the tower. It would have been enough to make him hurl if Sam hadn't seen far worse. A few bullets zipped past his head and he ducked back behind the wagon, hearing more thud into the thick wood it was made from.

The bullets had come from his right, the north end of town. He tilted his head out just enough to see who it was, spotting a line of the black clad men forming into groups, Scarface bellowing orders behind them. And behind him rose the hall the survivors were kept in.

Sam cursed. He had hoped that, with a fast enough attack, the rest of the Inquisitors would run off to the north rather than risk being killed. Apparently that was a risk worth taking while Scarface was around.

More bullets thudded in to the wagon and Sam was forced to make a dash for new cover. The only closest candidate was the tower so, after several deep breathes, he sprinted out from behind the wagon and headed towards the ruined mass of wood and metal. Bullets slammed into the ground following his every footstep and, when he finally reached cover, his heart was pounding so fast he thought it might explode.

His rifle snapped up, almost on its own, as he heard movement from behind him. But he lowered it when he saw it was only Patrick and Abby, moving up to join him. Patrick kneeled down next to him and began firing at the Inquisitors.

"They're not retreating" he said, matter-of-factly.

"No shit" muttered Sam, careful not to let Patrick hear him. He saw Abby was shaking, staring around wild eyed, ducking down further the more bullets that were fired at them. "How are you doing?"

"I'm...alright" she said, then smiled sheepishly, "can you tell I've never done something like this before?"

"You're still here," he said, giving her a nod, "you should be proud. Most people wouldn't be, their first time"

"I wonder why..." she muttered sarcastically. He smiled, then turned to Patrick.

"Any ideas?"

"We need to push now, before our momentum is completely gone" Patrick grunted while reloading his rifle, "if we can't break them now, their numbers will be too much"

"Just what I was thinking" Sam said, peaking his head over their cover to see where things stood. Something didn't feel right though. There were the Inquisitors, all of the groups still right outside the hall, but it felt like something was missing. "Wait...where the hell is Isaac?"

"Saw him go into that building," Patrick started, nodding his head towards a building on their left. A big, grey, two storey house that had been to Isaac's left before the shooting started. "Haven't seen him come out since"

Sam nodded. No point worrying about the tracker for now, not when there were bigger problems at hand.

His mind was buzzing, going over every possibility he could think of, analysing them, finding their weaknesses, making adjustments but ultimately discarding them. He couldn't see a way to finish what they had started now. They were pinned down at their current position and trying to move would mean another suicidal run across open ground, something Sam wasn't keen on trying again. Their only choice at getting out of it alive was falling back the way Patrick and Abby had come, even if it left a bad taste in his mouth just thinking about it.

"Alright, let's-"

He was cut off as new shooters opened up on the Inquisitors. The building that Patrick said Isaac was in had to have had at least 3 shooters in the upstairs windows. With their elevated position they tore through the black clad enemy.

To their credit, the Inquisitors reformed and turned their fire on the building but it didn't stop the shooters, who continued mercilessly gunning down their enemy. Sam could see Scarface now, slinking away, firing his pistol every once and a while to look like he was fighting, before disappearing around the corner of the hall.

It took a moment for the rest to realise but, when they did see that their leader had abandoned them, they quickly followed, running as fast as they could past the barn and into the fields beyond. Strangely, the shooters kept firing until their guns ran out of ammunition and the constant clicking sounds of an empty barrel reached Sam's ears.

"What the hell?" grunted Patrick, allowing his head to emerge over the top of the cover to get a better view. He had just taken the words out of Sam's mouth.

Sam stood, squinting his eyes at the building, trying to spot any sort of movement. There was a dull creaking at one of the front doors and both Patrick and Sam sprang up, guns ready. The door was wrenched open and Isaac strode out, a big grin on his face.

His face was covered in blood, in fact most of his body was. It looked to Sam like he had been bathing in it. He saw them looking at him, guns slightly slack, clearly dumbfounded. He waved.

"Good plan" he shouted, still smiling. Sam lowered his weapon and jumped over the bits of ruined tower they were using for cover, motioning the others to follow. Patrick did, reluctantly, while Abby was sure to stay a fair distance behind them.

"What happened to you?" Sam asked as they got closer.

"What, this?" Isaac asked, pulling his vest out so he could examine the blood covering it. "You got to get bloody if you want to get killing done"

"I was talking about that" Sam explained, nodding up at the second floor windows.

"Oh, _that_" Isaac's eyes moved up to look at the windows, then he shrugged. "I saw you were in trouble down there, so I rigged up a little something. It took me longer than I thought though...sorry"

Patrick moved towards the door. "You probably don't want to go in there, big man" Isaac said absently.

"And why not?" Patrick growled.

Isaac spread his arms, showing his blood soaked body as if the answer was obvious. "It's a little messy"

Patrick shook his head and moved away from the building, heading over to some of the downed Inquisitors. He began to go through their pockets, pulling out whatever he found and dumping it in a small pile to his left.

"Go help him, Abby" Sam said. She looked uncertain at the idea of touching dead bodies, but nodded and headed off regardless.

"I think she likes you" Isaac whispered, "Any woman that will comb through dead bodies for you is worth keeping, that's what I always say..."

"Just...stop, alright?" Sam said with a sigh. He looked over at the hall. It was pock-marked with bullet holes and, as his hearing was beginning to return to normal after the battle, he could hear muffled sobs.

"Shall we?" Isaac asked, sweeping his hand across the side of the hall. Sam nodded and the pair moved towards the two large doors at the front that led inside. Each of the door had a window, the grimy glass cracked by several bullets on both sides but it was surprisingly still intact. Even so, it was impossible to see past. Gripping one handle each, the two men pulled the doors open, the hinges whining in protest as their rusted parts ground against each other. The light flowed through the now open doorway, illuminating a scene of pure hell.

Beams of light criss-crossed the room like lasers, piercing through the bullet holes scattered across every wall. The people inside, at least the ones that were moving, were more bloody than Isaac. A middle-aged woman had her arms around an older man, clearly dead. She was sobbing, rocking back and forth. A child was lying only a few feet from Sam, a great big hole where his chest should have been. Sam had to fight the urge to vomit.

Isaac was the first to move, seemingly unworried by what he saw. Sam followed, reluctantly, and the pair made their way through the room. The floor was slick with blood, enough to make a man slip if he wasn't careful, so they trod as lightly as they could. Isaac looked right at home, flipping corpses over with his feet, looking for Original. Sam would have snapped something at him but he was worried that, if he opened his mouth, he wouldn't be able to fight the vomiting urge. And he was struggling with it enough as it was.

"Ah, there you are" remarked Isaac. Sam looked up from the floor for the first time since they had entered. They had covered almost the entire expanse of the hall and were moving towards one of the corners. There, covered in blood like everything else, was Original Jones.

He was skinnier in person then he had looked before, when Sam had seen him from the ridge. He was still wearing the same clothes although it was hard to tell with all the blood. The man's head was shaved, his eyes squeezed tight and he was rocking back and forth, mumbling something that Sam couldn't understand.

"I told you he was crazy" Isaac muttered. Sam ignored him.

"Original?" he offered, extending his hand to the man. The man either didn't notice him or ignored his hand, but he continued muttering. Even as Sam's hand reached under his arm, pulling him to his feet, leading him out of the blood soaked hall and away from the moaning survivors, he never stopped muttering to himself. His eyes were open now, but had a faraway look to them, as if he wasn't so much looking at the floor but past it, down into the soul of the planet itself.

"Jesus" muttered Patrick, as he looked them up and down. Sam followed his eyes, realising his shoes and the bottom of his pants were soaked in blood. He must not have seen it in the darkened hall. "What happened in there?"

Isaac shook his head and strode away a short distance, crouching down to check one of the dead Inquisitors. Sam swallowed. "Collateral damage" he managed to say, his voice cracking slightly. He hadn't wanted to admit it when he went in, had wanted to believe so bad that the Inquisitors had done that, had shot their prisoners when they were first attacked. But he was too logical for that.

"What?" snapped Patrick, shouldering his way past. Sam made to stop him, but it was too late, the armoured man having disappeared into the hall. A few moments passed before a new voice joined the mourning, a vicious howl of suffering the likes Sam had never heard. A howl that could only come from a man trying to atone from sins...who realised he had just committed one more.

Abby took a deep breath and looked at Sam. "I got this" she whispered, throwing her rifle over her back and disappearing in to the hall.

Isaac strode back over. "We should go, soon" he said, looking around, "they might look to come back once they've found their balls again"

"I know," Sam said. He pushed Original, still muttering, towards Isaac. "Take him back to Oz, get everything ready to go. I'll bring Abby and Patrick up soon"

"You've got to be kidding" said Isaac, looking with disgust at Original.

"Just take him" Sam snapped, "I'm not in the mood"

Isaac threw him a glare, but took Original under the arm and began heading south, back towards Oz. "Oh Christ, shut up!" he heard Isaac snap as they got further away. When they had disappeared past the furthest buildings Sam turned and headed into the hall.

Patrick was kneeling next to someone, a man with a hole in his throat. He was gurgling blood, but Patrick had his attention focused on a wound in the man's chest. It was obvious he was going to die. Whether Patrick knew or cared, Sam didn't know.

Abby was hovering around, trying to get Patrick away with kind words or subtle pushes, but he angrily denied her every attempt.

"Patrick," Sam barked, "we're leaving"

"I'm busy" Patrick snapped. Sam stepped closer.

"We don't have time. The Inquisitors could come back at any time..."

"We can't just leave them hear" Patrick said sternly, "it's not right"

"What part of this looks right to you?" Sam asked sadly, "It is what it is. They'll bury their dead"

"We did this" muttered Patrick sadly, "I can't handle this..."

His body went limp for a moment, then stiffened. His helmet swivelled around, taking in the scene, then he backed away.

"Jesus Christ!" he exclaimed, using his legs to push the corpses away from him.

"Mo?" asked Abby.

Sam heard a sigh from the helmet's speakers. "Yeah, it's me" Mo sighed, "let's go"

* * *

Original had stopped mumbling when Sam and the others returned to Oz, but he still had that faraway look and, despite Oz's best attempts, didn't respond to communication.

"Trauma?" Sam asked, "From what happened down there?"

"No," grunted Isaac, "he's always been like this. I _told _yo-"

"I know" Sam said quickly, cutting him off, "can you get him to talk?" he asked Oz.

Oz shook his head. "He's worse than usual...but I think he will still work out"

"If he can't talk, what use is he?" Abby asked.

"I expect he'll do something" Oz said absently. Sam shot him a glare. "Look, I know it doesn't seem like it, but we're better off with him than without him, right? And nobody died getting him, so what's the harm?"

Mo looked away, clearly thinking about the hall. Sam didn't blame him, since he was remembering the exact same thing. If Original didn't pan out than all those lives had died pointlessly.

He frowned. Even if Original did work out, all of those people had died pointlessly, he corrected himself.

Sam sighed. "Fine, but we have to go. Isaac..."

"Gladly" he said, throwing a glare at Original before tossing his pack over his back and heading down a trail that skirted the village. Everyone followed, putting on their backs and making their way down the track after Isaac, Oz pulling Original along, the man still not showing the slightest sign that he knew or cared where he was. He had even started mumbling again.

As Mo strode past, Sam grabbed his arm to stop him. His helmet was off, hanging loosely from one side of his pack, so Sam could see his face screw up in confusion.

"I thought you said we had-" he started.

"Just...wait" Sam said, interrupting the other man. Mo relaxed, taking a step back and Sam let his arm fall away. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't I be?"

"The hall?"

"Oh...yeah" Mo said, looking away. "Patrick finds it hard to deal with that kind of thing...after Tonopah and all"

"Is he going to be okay?" Sam asked.

Mo shrugged. "Probably, a few days in here..." he tapped his head, "...can do wonders" he finished with a wry smile.

"I'm glad to see you're taking it so well" remarked Sam.

"Oh, I feel like shit" Mo admitted with a shrug, "but...Patrick absorbs guilt like a sponge, whether he deserves it or not. I know there was nothing to do for those people. He just finds it hard to disconnect his heart from his brain..." he laughed suddenly, grimly, "sometimes I think he's the heart and I'm the brain, you know?"

"Yeah," Sam answered, nodding, "I know exactly what you mean. Let's head off..."

Mo started walking, leaving Sam to toss his own pack over his back. But as he strode away Sam made a mental note to watch the two-souled man. He was definitely more complicated than Sam had anticipated and that made him dangerous. Say one thing for Samael Grant, say he's a careful man...and a careful man suspects everyone.


	10. Trouble Ahead

Hollow frowned down at the barely visible tracks in the ground, which made Abercrombie frown. The pair were crouched on the trail the group had been on, following the Regenerating Man and his party for several days now.

"What is it?" he asked the tribal. The darker skinned man didn't answer for a second, his eyes sweeping the area as if looking for something, his gloved hand running over the ground, stroking it almost.

"Tracks change..." he finally grunted, "that way." His hand shot out, pointing roughly north-east. Abercrombie reached into his pocket and pulled out the map the General had given him, examining it closely. North-east was...nothing, literally. No known towns, outposts, just a whole lot of sand and desert.

"There's nothing out there" he whispered, turning to look in that direction, squinting his eyes, as if he might spot something interesting. But there was nothing, just like the map said.

"What's going on, sir?" Leon asked, crouching down next to Abercrombie and Hollow.

"Hollow says the tracks are heading north-east" Abercrombie explained, still focused that way. Leon frowned.

"North-east?" he asked, disbelieving, "there's nothing north-east of here..."

"I know..." Abercrombie growled, "so what the hell are they doing going that way?"

"Maybe trying to avoid something on the trail?" Leon offered.

"Circling 'round" Hollow said, confidently. As if him saying it was enough to make it fact.

Abercrombie turned towards him. "What did you say?"

"Circle 'round" Hollow repeated, then he shrugged, "what I do, in their skin"

"What? Like they knew we were following them?" Leon asked, more disbelieving this time, "how in the hell would they know that? Aren't we days behind them?"

"They didn't know we were here," Abercrombie said softly, "but they will when they find our tracks. Damn it! Whoever is leading them is more careful than we gave them credit for."

"Closer, too" Hollow said suddenly, his hands moving over the tracks in the ground. "Tracks fresher today then the day before this one"

Abercrombie nodded. "They must have had something to do with that village we came across. A battle like that would have taken some time" he finished knowingly, as if he had sacked his own share of villages in his time.

"That was a hell of a mess," remarked Leon, "are we sure we know what we're getting into with them?"

"No, but we have our orders" Abercrombie said sternly, putting an end to any further discussion. He looked around, taking in the area that surrounded them. Mountains still rose up around them, like bars on a prison, but this area had a ridge about two men tall overlooking the road, as well as a sparse collection of desert trees, cactus and the like. "We'll set up here, catch them when they come through. Leon, get Hannibal and a few others on that ridge, then tell everyone else to spread out. Stay out of sight until I give the signal." He took a step forward, resting his foot on a rock nestled into the trail, and looked back over the trail they had just come through. "They might figure out we're following them, but they won't see this coming."

For the first time since this started Abercrombie allowed himself a brief smile. If everything went right, this might be over quicker than anyone could have expected. It might even be enough to wash away the outcast label he and his men had gotten over the years.

_If everything went right,_ he thought suddenly? He stifled a snort. _When did everything ever go right?_

* * *

"This doesn't feel right," muttered Oz. Sam agreed.

They had been walking for hours, yet the scenery hadn't changed. The same mountains rose up around them, the same plants squatted beside them in the harsh sun. Even the clouds seemed to hang in the sky, like the world around them had been put on pause.

This wasn't all that different to the rest of the trip; after a while, all of the desert terrain looked the same. But there was something nagging in the back of Sam's mind, a sense of déjà vu he couldn't quite shake, like these surrounding didn't just look familiar, they _were_ familiar. What was worse was their guide, Isaac, had disappeared further along the trail, so there was nobody to question about it. He cursed silently. He hated feeling helpless.

He sighed. At times like this you have to just grit your teeth and keep moving. Push through the doubts. Put your head down and put one foot in front-

He saw the tracks now, clear as day. They weren't visible until you were standing right on top of them, with sand having blown in and half filling them, but Sam could see them now that he was looking down. And they looked suspiciously familiar.

"Hold up," he ordered, kneeling down for a closer look.

"What is it?" Mo asked, kneeling down next to him. Sam pointed at the tracks and Mo frowned. "Tracks?" he asked, as if it wasn't obvious. Sam nodded. "Who's are they?"

Sam wasn't much of a tracker. He couldn't tell what colour an animal was from the depth of its footprint or how scared a man was by the length of his. But he had a working knowledge, more than enough to recognise these tracks.

They were his.

Looking around, it wasn't long before he found the others'. Abby's, smaller than the rest. Mo's, deeper and larger. Oz's, seemingly behind the others. Isaac's appeared randomly, wherever one of the others hadn't trodden over it. No sign of Original's, though, which meant they had passed through here a few days ago at least.

"We circled around," he whispered, frowning at the trail ahead, at where Isaac was somewhere. Questions began to bounce around in his head; why would he do it? Why wouldn't he tell us? Are we being led in to a trap? A whole lot of questions and none he had an answer for or even liked.

"We did what?" asked Abby, peering over Mo's shoulder. Oz and Original had come over as well, forming a huddle of sorts around Sam.

"We circled around," grunted Sam, getting to his feet.

"Why?" she asked.

"I don't know" he answered, softly.

"I intend to find out" growled Patrick, who turned and started moving down the track after Isaac. Abby was the first to follow with Oz pulling Original along after. But Sam stayed a moment, frowning at the tracks. He knew he wasn't a great tracker, but as he looked over the tracks again he noticed something strange. Oz's prints, at least the ones he thought were Oz's, would turn regularly, as if the man had been looking behind them. He hadn't noticed it before but, for some reason, it stuck out.

He couldn't quite explain it, but after years of listening to his gut instincts he wasn't going to start ignoring them now. And they were all screaming that something was wrong. His eyes left the ground and slowly moved up, eventually looking down the trail.

The others had already disappeared around the next bend. Hefting his bag, Sam followed, expecting anything.

Anything, of course, but this.

The area around the bend was more built up, the rocks from an old landslide forming strong walls that rose up on both sides of the path and narrowed to a point at the end, barely wide enough for a man to fit through. Sam remembered walking through it days ago. He remembered hating it, too. That feeling of claustrophobia, that something bad was going to happen and he would be stuck in that small gap, unable to move. He had the same useless feeling now, although for a completely different reason.

Original was the first one he saw, crouched over a rock further back than the others. His eyes were squeezed shut, a dull whimper escaping through his lips, his knuckles white as he clutched to that rock as if his life depended on it.

Isaac was on the other side, a few steps in from the narrow gap. His glasses were off, his eyes focused, his arm up and his pistol pointed directly at Oz. Oz's back was to Sam, but he could still see the man's pistol aimed at Isaac in kind. Abby was a few steps from Oz, gun loosely pointed at Isaac, while Patrick, his helmet off and the scowl back on his face, had his firmly pointed at Oz.

"Ah, our employer!" Isaac shouted. Abby turned to look and Patrick gave him a glance, but otherwise nobody moved. "Why don't we let him settle this?" Isaac asked, a smile tugging at the edge of his lips.

"What the hell is this?" Sam growled, storming over.

"Oz sold us out!" Patrick spat.

"Fuck you!" roared Oz.

"Traitor!" Patrick shouted back.

"ENOUGH!" screamed Sam, louder than he had meant, but it got the job done. Everyone stopped talking. Everyone stopped...period. Twitching, blinking, breathing. The world paused. "Is someone going to tell me what's going on?"

Patrick opened his mouth to speak but Isaac got in first. "You can read tracks...look around you"

Sam frowned, but looked down and saw the tracks. Saw a lot of tracks, now that he looked. More than the 5 of them could have made. These new tracks were heavier too, sinking roughly the same depth as Patrick's. These new tracks seemed to gather together just in front of Sam, like they had huddled around something on the ground. Like they had been reading the tracks themselves.

And not just anyone's tracks. They were looking at Oz's and their tracks stayed close to his. It was clear enough; someone was following Oz.

"Someone's following him," Isaac said, obviously not waiting for Sam to speak.

"Everyone lower their guns" Sam said, striding forward until he was standing in the middle of the standoff. Nobody moved. "Now," he added, coldly, his hand resting ever so gently on the hilt of his pistol.

Patrick grumbled, but lowered his rifle. Oz followed, holstering his pistol angrily. Abby's rifle was already slack and it didn't take much for her to lower it further, the barrel touching the ground, her hand resting on the stock. Isaac was the last to move, that smile still tugging at the edge of his lips. But he shrugged and his hand disappeared behind his back, emerging without a pistol.

"As I said, you're our employer" he said wryly.

"As you said..." Sam muttered, turning towards Oz. "Explain"

"You don't seriously believe this-" Oz started, waving his hand at Patrick and Isaac.

"Explain" Sam repeated, the coldness creeping back into his voice.

Oz opened his mouth to say something but stopped short, seeming to think better of it. His mouth closed, his eyes drifted to the floor and breath noisily swept from his nose as he sighed.

"I thought I'd lost them..." he whispered.

"Told you," Isaac said, but Sam cut him off with a glare.

"They've been hunting me for...as long as I can remember..." Oz continued.

"Who?" asked Abby.

"Evil men who wear black armour...black like their souls..."

"The Enclave?" said Sam, as everything began making sense.

Oz nodded. "That's what they call themselves, at least. There are other names for them"

Patrick snorted. "The Enclave was destroyed at the Rig 50 years ago, everyone knows that. You're full of shit"

"The next man who speaks, whispers, or makes a noise without my say so dies," Sam said coldly, turning on Patrick. "Understand?" he looked them all over, glaring, half expecting one of them to challenge what he just said. They were, after all, fighting men. But none of them did.

He turned back to Oz. "Why do they want you?"

Oz sucked in a deep breath and let it out, trying to calm his nerves. "That's...harder to explain..." he finally whispered.

"Try" insisted Sam.

"They've been hunting me for...200 hundred years"

"Two...hundred...what?" Isaac asked. This time, Sam didn't cut him off with a glare. He couldn't even move, he was completely focused on Oz. _200 hundred years?_

Oz swallowed loudly. "I was alive before the war..."

"How is that even possible?" Abby asked.

"I don't know, exactly...I woke up underground, after the war, when the world was still on fire. I was surrounded by machines, of all kinds, I...can't remember much, after that. I remember fear. I remember feeling it, seeing it on everyone's faces. I remember killing because of it, they were...still _are_, bad times," he sighed, "When I finally figured out the way the new world worked I decided to leave. I headed east, towards the rising sun. And after a few years I eventually ended up here..." he finished. Everybody stayed quiet, thinking it over for themselves.

"Did you ever find out what happened to you?" Abby asked.

"Eventually...the Enclave called me 'Lazarus' back then..."

"A few years could take you from one side of the country to the other...they cover the entire country?" Sam interrupted.

Oz nodded. "They were less organised, though. The bombs disrupted radios, so they couldn't communicate with all their different forces like they can now. Still, they came...and I killed. It was all I knew how to do. But they had a computer with them, in their transport, and I went through it...There were no real details," he said, shaking his head, "just bits and pieces, but it was more then I'd had.

"It talked about the 'Lazarus' project, a pre-war attempt to create the perfect human, able to survive and thrive in the radioactive wasteland that they knew was coming," he took a deep breath, "Well, it worked...better than they could have imagined," he leaned forward, using his hands for added emphasis, "see, surviving radiation is harder than they thought. Any seemingly radiation-resistant cells they created would be mutated when they were irradiated due to the base genes they were using. Some kind of evolutionary virus, but that's not important. What's important is that, since they couldn't create new cells, they got the idea to simply re-use the old ones. By boosting the body's rate of repair they found that radiation had no lasting effect.

"But these boosted cells offered so much more. The repairs weren't only for radiation; any minor cut would heal in minutes, any major injury in hours and even fatal wounds could be healed in days. They had created an un-killable man. The rate of survival in test subjects, however, was incredibly low. But it didn't stop them, not until their money ran out. Then the project was scrapped, the surviving test subjects frozen. Test subjects...like me..."

"Wait..." Isaac started, raising his hands, his face screwed up in confusion, "are you telling me you can't die?"

"Yes"

"Seriously?"

"Yes"

Isaac's hand whipped out, his knife slashing across Oz's face. The man squealed and then turned, fury across his face. But it disappeared as he saw everyone staring at him.

Sam had never seen anything like it. The wound stretched from one side of his face to the other, and it was deep too. He watched as it, ever so slowly, got smaller and then disappeared entirely, as if it had never been there in the first place.

"It can't be..." he whispered.

"How is that..." started Patrick, leaning forward for a closer look.

"Incredible," whistled Isaac.

Oz sighed. "So now you've seen it."

"I didn't believe it till I did," grunted Patrick.

"So that's why the Enclave is after you," said Sam knowingly.

Oz nodded. "If they can re-create this..." his hand motioned towards his body, "they'll be unstoppable. And after their last few setbacks...they're getting desperate," he stared at the ground, "look, I'm...I'm sorry to involve you all in this..."

"So Vault 16...does it even exist?" Sam interrupted.

"'Course it does. It was on the same computer I found, all those years ago. There's something important down there, something I know you could use. And when we've found it, all you have to do is hold up your end and the world is safe"

"Your end?" Abby asked.

"Never mind" Sam said with a dismissive wave. He sighed, long and loud. This was a lot of information to take in all at once and that was if you even believed it all, but it's not what was important now. "The important thing is we're being followed"

Isaac raised his hand. "I might have an idea about that,"

"Yes?"

"Let's get rid of them..."

* * *

Leon sighed, long but silently. Abercrombie nodded at him. At least someone was following the plan.

They had been camped in the same area for the last few days, stretched out in various hiding places around the trail, waiting for their targets to come to them. It was a lot harder than Abercrombie had thought when he ordered it a few days ago.

Not for him, of course. As a career soldier he knew that the most time spent in war was sitting around waiting for one thing or another to happen. This was no different. But his men, his experienced veterans, didn't seem to grasp that idea.

He didn't truly blame them. They were irregulars, guerrilla fighters; sitting and waiting wasn't their usual MO. No, usually they would be stalking someone, taking the fight _to_ their enemy, not waiting for it to come to them. Still, the fact that they couldn't keep themselves under control was annoying at best and infuriating at worst.

Nobody had been allowed to move from their positions. They ate and slept wherever they were; Hannibal and a few others on the ridge overlooking the road, Abercrombie and Leon crouched under a stone a few metres from them, the rest scattered around. The only time they were able to leave their places was to relieve themselves; Abercrombie didn't want the stink of refuse to give them away. But with nothing to do and several days having passed, they were all getting restless. Dangerously restless.

Something moved to Abercrombie's right, a clattering of stones revealing someone's position. Abercrombie frowned and Leon stuck his head slightly out of cover, trying to see who it was. When he looked back he just shrugged; obviously the hiding spots were good enough to cover them under any circumstances. But if the enemy had been watching...

"Enough," someone shouted, followed by the sounds of more movement. Leon stuck his head out again, but Abercrombie already knew who it was. The voice was clearly female, leaving only 1 possibility; Charity.

Abercrombie looked out and watched as the blonde haired woman stepped out from her hiding place and strode in to the centre of the trail.

"There's no one here...and there's no one coming," she said, her eyes sweeping across all of their hiding places. None of them moved, however, so Abercrombie had to give them credit for that. "They were good enough to circle around so they're good enough to avoid this half-assed trap. We ought to keep heading north, try and catch them-"

A bullet took her in the back of the head, spraying blood across the trail. She went down with a combination of a squawk and a groan, her hand shooting up feebly to her head, hitting the ground with a thump.

"Fire!" Abercrombie roared and his men responded, firing down the trail. But there was no real sign of the enemy, they were just as well hidden as Abercrombie's men. Hell, they could have been hiding there for days, waiting for something to happen. Something, like Charity striding out in to the middle of the path.

Bullets seemed to come from everywhere. There were no defined positions, no clear lines of attack. Just bullets zinging through the air, slamming in to the desert ground around them.

Then Charity moved, and the situation changed entirely.

"She's alive" someone shouted over the noise of guns firing, although how they had managed it Abercrombie would never know. A big, black shape emerged from a trench a few metres in front of Abercrombie, his gun firing bullets faster than any of theirs.

It was Grim, his huge mechanical frame lumbering forward, his minigun spraying the trail in front of them with bullets. The enemy fire slowed and he continued moving forward, inching closer to Charity. So close that Abercrombie thought he could make it, could save the one female from their group.

But the enemy's fire picked up, bullets ricocheting off Grim's metallic skin. But one found a gap, in his knee, and he went down with a grunt, minigun stopping and dropping to the ground.

"Grim!" Julio screeched in horror, rising to his feet. Before Abercrombie could even move Leon had leapt from their cover, crossed the no man's land between them and tackled Julio back in to his trench, just as enemy fire intensified on that area.

Grim was on his knees, bullets constantly pinging off his armour, but they were beginning to find the gaps. He was bleeding, Abercrombie could see it from here, and the giant was breathing heavily. Julio was thrashing under Leon, who held him in a vice-like grip, knowing that Julio would gladly throw himself into the bullets to save his brother.

"Grim!" he was screaming, screaming like a man who was about to lose a limb, a part of himself. He probably was, thought Abercrombie suddenly.

As if in answer of his dark thoughts there was a lull in the shooting and a dull thump could be heard. Grim looked back just long enough to catch Abercrombie's eyes, those huge, bright blue lights looking strangely human in that instant, before his torso exploded in fire, his bodiless legs slumping to the ground.

Abercrombie stared at those legs for a moment, disbelieving, his jaw practically hitting the floor, before his years of experience kicked in.

"Fall back" he called, although it left a truly sour taste in his mouth. "Fall back!" he roared it this time, loud enough that everyone heard it.

Julio was struggling, fighting Leon's hold, but he had him in the same vice-like grip and pulled him out, pushing him down the trail as Hannibal and the two others with him on the ridge provided covering fire. Slowly, Abercrombie's men peeled off, each heading down the trail and providing covering fire for the man coming afterwards, working with machine-like efficiency despite all of them feeling the loss of Grim and Charity. Abercrombie had never left men behind like this.

_So much for getting this over with_, he thought sourly.

* * *

Sam looked across the trail. At the _battlefield_, he corrected.

The legs were still lying across the trail, smoke drifting lazily from the blasted torso. His doing, Sam knew. It was his grenade, from his launcher, that had sent the giant to hell. A fact he was both pleased and upset about.

On the one hand, taking him out had been a relief. His minigun was firing a torrent of bullets and taking it out of action was a boon. But on the other hand, Sam knew very well that men fighting on the other side weren't necessarily evil.

Of course, propaganda made them out to be that way. Sam knew it was part of the process; a man couldn't fight a man he didn't hate, and they fought all the harder when they believed their enemies were evil. Sam had been on both sides, however, so he knew the truth of the matter. And the truth was that, chances were, the man he had just killed was only doing his job. Following orders, fighting for those around him like any soldier truly is.

It didn't matter now though. Not when the blonde woman was still alive.

Sam was crouched beside her, pack off, rummaging through it for the medical supplies he had packed before he left New Vegas. He cursed as he passed another shirt. Why hadn't he put them at the top?

The blonde was breathing, shallow, but breathing. She had power armour, a lot like Patrick, but missing the arms and helmet. Whether she stripped it down herself or just didn't have a full suit, Sam didn't know. A full suit likely would have saved her too.

He finally found what he was looking for and reefed it, as fast he could, from the bottom of his bag. A leather bag, filled to the brim with medical supplies. Stimpaks, Med-X syringes, Psycho injection capsules, everything he could have possibly needed.

With the supplies in hand he turned his attention back to the blonde. The bullet she had taken had hit her in the back of the head, but wasn't a fatal blow. It had hit her at an angle and bounced from her skull, leaving a small dent in the bone, a bleeding hole and a hell of a headache, but not much more.

Sam took out a Med-X syringe, the most powerful pain-killer drug they had in the wastes. He jammed it roughly in to her arm. The cylindrical syringe hissed slightly as its contents were forced into her bloodstream. Next, Sam took out a larger syringe, a Stimpak, the red liquid shining slightly in the sunlight. This one, he knew, would boost her recovery time and act as a further pain-killer. He jabbed it in roughly the same spot, the same hiss coming as he forced his thumb down on the end, pushing the contents into her.

"What are you doing?"

The question came so suddenly that Sam didn't quite know where exactly it _had_ come from. Did he just think it? He had been wondering, following the first needle but before the second, why exactly he was working so hard to save his enemy, someone whose friends had just tried to kill them all.

"Did you hear me?"

Well, at least he knew it was real. He looked up, his eyes meeting Isaac's, then trickling down to the large knife in his hand. The tanned man's fingers flexed and tightened around the handle.

"What are you doing?" Isaac asked again, forcefully. Too forceful for Sam's tastes. Like he had forgotten who was in charge.

"What's it look like?" Sam countered.

"Saving our enemy, that's what it looks like"

"And?"

Isaac's face screwed up in confusion. "She's our _enemy_...we should be cutting her throat, not wasting meds on her"

"She could be useful," answered Sam, turning his attention back to the blonde. He took out some bandages, lifting up her head gently and wrapping a few rolls over the wound and around her forehead. "We need to know _exactly _who's hunting us. Their numbers, their tactics, everything. She can give us that."

Isaac snorted. "You know she won't"

"It's worth a shot," Sam answered. "Why are we even discussing this? If I say she stays, she stays"

Isaac glared at him for what felt like an age, his eyes seeming to examine everything about Sam's. His lips were tight, no smile tugging at them this time, and the knife swayed gently in his hands, as if he was getting ready to strike. Sam's own hand drifted over the hilt of his pistol, an old habit in these kinds of situations. Time froze for a moment as they sized each other up.

Then Isaac shrugged and the knife disappeared into his sheath behind his back. A smile appeared on his lips again, tugging at the corners.

"You're the boss" he said absently, then turned and strode off. Sam's hand didn't leave his pistol until Isaac was well out of sight though.

"I didn't know you were a doctor..." Abby remarked, crouching down on the other side of the blonde and looking the bandages over. Sam's hand left his pistol as he turned his attention back to the women.

"Sticking needles in someone doesn't make me a doctor," he countered, checking that they were tight enough.

"But...then how did you know what to do?"

He leant back and sighed, satisfied with his work. "Experience," he said, sadly, "lots and lots of experience..."


	11. Making Friends

"We should have killed her," Isaac muttered as the blonde began to move. Sam just grunted; neither agreeing nor disagreeing with him. He didn't feel like getting into another argument right now.

She had recovered well from her injuries, the wound healing well the two days since the battle. She hadn't shown any sign of waking, though, but it did give Sam a chance to examine her a little more. After all, there is more that you can learn from a person than just what they tell you.

Her blonde hair was cut short, obvious going for practicality over style, but she had a long lock stretching down the left side of her face, covering up her left eye. It stretched down to her chin and could be spread out to cover that entire side of her face. Why she left that one part long, Sam didn't know. But it was definitely interesting.

They had stripped her of her armour, not wanting her to get the strength boost that came along with it, and so she was dressed in her underclothes; a thin singlet and baggy pants. It displayed a fit and good looking figure, at least in Sam's eyes. But that wasn't the thing that caught his attention the most.

No, it was her face that he found himself staring at more and more. A hard face, with strong cheeks and a chiselled jaw. She looked tough and, for some reason he couldn't explain, Sam was fascinated by her. Which worried him. Greatly.

She was still the enemy. Getting curious, getting _close_, could be dangerous for everyone.

Her eyes flickered open, cold blue eyes looking them all over one at a time. They lingered for a strangely long time on Sam, perhaps realising he was the leader, or perhaps being as interested in him as he had found himself in her. _Or maybe she just thinks I look strange_, he thought.

"What's your name?" Sam asked. Her eyes locked on to his and he forced down the urge to shiver. She looked at him almost with curiosity, but with a coldness he had never seen from a woman either.

"Water..." she finally croaked.

"Your name is Water?" Abby asked.

"_Give me_...water"

Sam nodded at Oz, who knelt down beside her with a water flask, lifting it gently to her lips and tipping it up so the cold contents could pour down her throat. She swallowed it greedily.

"Now...what's your name?" Sam asked again. She turned her eyes back to him but remained quiet. "No? How about telling us who you work for?"

Still, nothing but silence.

"I can get her to talk," Isaac said as he stepped forward, one hand reaching around behind his back. Her eyes flicked towards him and narrowed, contempt etched across her face. A smile began on Isaac's face before Sam's arm stopped him in his tracks.

"No...if she doesn't want to talk, she doesn't have to," he said, "not yet, anyway." He turned to Patrick. "Get her up. We need to keep moving...I don't want her friends catching up to us just yet..."

* * *

Abercrombie looked around at his men. They were spread out loosely around a small pool, one of the few natural water springs in the area. Rocks rose up around them haphazardly, likely the remnants of a rockslide, and a small waterfall trickled down on the wall opposite the entrance, the water splashing loudly as it hit the surface of the pool.

The mood was dark as he took in their faces. Julio was sitting on a rock, head in his hands, fighting back tears unsuccessfully. Mike and Hannibal were with him, doing their best to comfort him, but he angrily rejected it. Leon was next to Abercrombie, frowning down at a map in his hand. Beaumont was sitting, cross legged in front of the pool, while Hart sat a few metres to his left, scowling at the ground again. Hollow had left several minutes ago to scout the surrounding area; at least, that's what he had told Abercrombie, but the captain knew the tribal just wanted time alone. Time he was more than willing to give, considering the circumstances.

He cleared his throat loudly, so he was sure everyone heard. They all turned to look at him.

"Everyone...take a moment. Collect yourselves. Then pack your things and get ready to move. We have work to do" he said. He might be willing to give them a little time, but they still had orders. They could mourn the dead when the job was done or when they themselves were dead. He knew it was cold, callous, heartless and plenty worse words besides, but that's just how it was.

"Revenge," growled Julio suddenly. He stood. "How do you plan to track them down, sir?"

Abercrombie locked his gaze with Julio's. "We know where they're going, we'll meet them at our secondary objective"

"But...that's at least a week away," said Julio, softly, "I can't wait that long"

"You can and you will," Abercrombie answered forcefully, then he turned to the others. "This loss is hard for me too, but we can't forget our jobs, we can't forget the _mission_"

"Fuck the mission!" roared Julio, his mechanic voice echoing around the rock walls. "I want revenge!" He took a step closer to Abercrombie, fists clenched tight. Hannibal and Mike both rose behind him, ready to restrain him if he did something stupid, but Abercrombie wasn't going to give them the chance.

Stepping forward himself he slammed a right hook into Julio's cheek, careful to miss the metallic re-breather that could break his hand. The bald man went down without a sound but landed heavily, moving slowly onto his back.

"Listen to me, all of you," Abercrombie said coldly, looking each of them over, "I understand you're all hurting, believe me...I am too, but I won't tolerate this" he said, pointing down at Julio, who was now resting on his elbow, looking up at his captain, his eyes narrowed. Abercrombie looked at them all, each of them looking at him like he was somehow different to them, like they had expected better and were more than disappointed. He frowned at that.

"That's enough time for all of you...pack your things, we're moving out."

Nobody moved.

"NOW!" he roared. They grumbled, they moaned, they cursed under their breath, but they all packed their things and headed back towards the trail. Even Julio, although he glared at Abercrombie the whole time. Only Leon stayed behind with the captain.

"That could have gone better" he remarked.

"It needed to happen," Abercrombie said. He hawked and spat. "Mutiny is like a spark; if you don't put it out it'll burn your whole damn house down..."

Leon nodded. "I know. I just doubt you made any friends with that speech"

"It's not my job to make friends" Abercrombie snapped angrily, picking up his own pack and turning towards the trail.

_No, my job is to keep my men alive. A job I've already failed...twice. _

* * *

Isaac looked up, his eyes just briefly glimpsing the morning sun as it was hanging loosely over the eastern mountains. The light blinded him, caused him to look away, but in that moment of blindness he had felt no fear, no doubts, not even hopes. He had just been a perfect, empty, blank slate of a man. And that suited him just fine.

The fist hit him in the cheek, sent his head snapping back with a crack. He would have hit the ground equally hard if it weren't for the two black-coated goons holding him up, smug smiles on their face.

Groggily Isaac's eyes came back up, searching for the sun again and for that blank feeling. But instead he met the stare of a scarred face, the jagged pink flesh stretching from his forehead and ending just under his chin. The scar crossed over one of the man's eyes, leaving the iris white, while the other was a hard looking shade of dark green.

His lips curled into a small smile, the scar moving along with the motion, as he massaged his hand.

"You know, you don't have to suffer through this," he said, absently, "We came for the heretic. The cowering fool you _stole_ from us...but, despite this, I'm willing to let you go," he leaned in closer to Isaac, green eye staring hard into Isaac's, then he turned and looked over the others.

Patrick was tied up, a heavy set man standing beside him. He had a broken lip, a black eye and, at least for now, had decided to stop struggling. Original was curled up in a ball, whimpering. Abby was in an only slightly more dignified position, while the blonde sat, still tied up, the same look of contempt on her face as she'd had for her original captors.

"I'm willing to let you _all_ go," he said, sweeping his hands across the group. "All you have to do...is tell me where the other one is"

"Who?" someone asked. Isaac twitched as Scarface turned towards him. Obviously, then, it was his question.

The wry smile was still on the man's face. "You know who...the one with the grenade launcher. The one who is suspiciously missing from your little group"

Isaac hadn't realised it, but the scarred man was right; where the hell was the Courier? Still, he wasn't going to let them know he had no idea.

"You're looking at him" he answered, nodding towards the blonde.

Scarface turned to look at her, then chuckled. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

"Do you really want me to answer that?" A fist slammed into Isaac's ribs, doubling him over, but he was reefed back to his feet by the goons that had held him up before. He glanced across at one of them, who was now smiling and nodding. Obviously the one who had just hit him in the ribs.

"Don't test me, tanned man," Scarface said darkly, "punches are hardly the worst I can do"

"You're right, I barely felt them," Isaac giggled, grinning a red smile, his teeth covered with blood.

Scarface leant back and delivered another right hook to Isaac's face, cracking his head back again. This time he fell to his knees, but no one bothered to drag him up.

"This one's no use to us," Scarface said to his men. He looked the rest of the group over, finally settling on Abby. "Bring me that one"

"But, sir," one of the black garbed men started, stepping towards his boss, "a woman bruised is hardly a woman at all and the men...well, it's been a while for them sir..."

Scarface nodded knowingly. "Soldier, you're completely right. Take the blonde...she is, after all, the better looking of the two"

The man grinned widely. "With pleasure, sir" he said, striding over to the blonde.

"Don't you get hot in those?" Isaac asked the legs of the man standing to his right, staring at the black leather reflecting the harsh sun.

He was groggy, his eyes seemingly roaming on their own. They passed over Patrick, beginning to struggle again. Then to Abby, screaming as she was wrenched to her feet by her hair, shoved forcefully in front of Scarface. Finally they came to rest on the blonde.

Her eyes were wide, all of her contempt replaced with pure terror. Isaac wondered why, for a moment, before he noticed the man lying on top of her, fumbling with his belt. He snorted. Typical that he would be on the wrong side when the fun started.

All he could hear now was noise. Patrick grunting as he wrestled with his bonds, Original whimpering quietly, Abby blubbering something, the blonde screaming...no, shrieking, and all of the black clad men chuckling at it all. It was such a noise the he felt himself getting lost in it, swaying with the highs and lows, the screams and the chuckles of laughter. He felt it pulling at him, asking him...no, _demanding_ him to join in.

So he did.

His laugh came slow at first, more of a gurgle through his battered mouth. But it grew, louder and louder, drowning out each noise as it did. It changed, going from high to low and back again, turning from a deep, throaty chuckle to a screeching cackle.

All the other noise had stopped, only Isaac echoing around the mountain. He tipped his head back, stared straight at the sun, felt it's warm embrace, the light sweeping away his essence and he cackled harder, revelling in it.

His head came back down, his eyes fixing on the man on top of the blonde. He had stopped what he was doing, his face screwed up in a mix of uncertainty and curiosity, his hands still down around his crotch. Isaac wondered why he had stopped, why they all had stopped. All except her, the blonde, that terrified look still in her eyes as they focused completely on the man in front of her, her breath coming ragged through her nose. Isaac lifted his finger, levelled it at the man, about to tell him something but finding he couldn't stop laughing.

Suddenly there was a loud crack, like someone breaking a branch from a tree, and the man on the blonde toppled over in a spray of blood, most of his insides spread across the ground around him. The blonde, free of his weight, pushed herself out from under him with her feet, giving him a sharp kick to the face for good measure.

Isaac found he had stopped laughing, staring around like the black clad men, wondering where the shot had come. Another sound, more of a dull thump, echoed around the rocks before a deafening roar rocked Isaac forward, hot blobs of something smacking in to his back as the ground lurched up sickeningly fast to meet him.

He felt his head snap back as he met it with his chin, more grogginess flooding into his mind, his ears ringing like someone had put a bell over his head.

He slowly became aware of other noise; the all too familiar staccato of machine gun fire, more of the loud cracks, even a few more deafening roars. Something heavy landed on top of him, pinning one of his arms beneath his body.

Cursing, he shoved at it more out of instinct than anything else, realising as he did that it was a dead Inquisitor, the man's eyes distant and grey, tongue lolling to the side of his open mouth. With his free hand he managed to push the corpse off.

He heaved himself with great effort back to his knees, the grogginess slowly disappearing. All of the Inquisitors were firing wildly, seemingly without a real target. Scarface was screaming, pointing one way then the other, making things worse for his men it seemed. Still, they bumbled after every order, slowly getting picked off one by one by the unseen assailant.

Isaac leant forward, intending to get to his feet. He was the only one who hadn't been restrained seeing as he was the last to be captured, having walked back from a morning piss right into the butt of a rifle. His hands reached forward, resting on the ground, but also resting on something cold. Isaac looked down. One of his fingers was draped gently over a rifle, likely from the Inquisitor that had died on top of him. Isaac pulled it towards him, wincing as a stab of pain went into his ribs with the movement. When it was close enough he grasped it in both hands and felt...right.

There weren't many Inquisitors now. Scarface was dead, half of his face missing. The rest were spread out, still trying just to figure out where exactly they were being attacked from. Isaac levelled his gun at the closest. Last time they had met he had been ordered to show mercy and it had led to this. So now, there was no mercy. Only death.

The rifle bucked in his hand as he fired, the bullet hitting the Inquisitor in the back and pushing him face first into the ground. He was slumped over, ass in the air, but he didn't move, so Isaac turned his attention to the next one.

Only, there were no next ones.

All of the Inquisitors were dead, some with smoke still rising from their wounds. Isaac looked around disappointedly. Luckily, though, when the fun _really_ began he had been on the right side...for once.

Sam stood up from behind the stone he had used as cover, his rifle and grenade launcher in each hand. He stepped passed it, looking it over. Not a single scratch. He was honestly shocked that they hadn't figured out where he was, but, he had to admit, they didn't seem like the best of the bunch. All of the good ones must have died back in the village.

"Everyone alright?" he called as he made his way over to the ground.

Isaac was on his feet, rifle in one hand while using the other to rub at his forehead. He groaned. "I think I have a headache..."

"Anyone else?"

"I'm good if you can un-tie me" Patrick said sourly. He had gotten to his feet and, laying his weapons on the ground, Sam deftly cut the rope binding the big man's arms. "Thanks" he grunted.

Oz was freed next, scrambling over to check on Original. Neither had a scratch on them, which was a relief. Abby had some blood dripping from her forehead, but that was it as Sam cut her free as well. They all moved about the bodies, Patrick trying to find his equipment, Abby trying to get far enough away to puke without the smell of death in her nostrils. She only got a few more strides before she couldn't hold it in any longer and vomited, loudly.

Finally Sam came to the blonde. She stared up at him, propped up on her elbows. Her look was different. Only subtly so, but it had less contempt and a little...respect? Sam wasn't sure.

"Are you alright?" he asked her. She nodded, never taking her eyes off him. He stepped forward, intending to cut her free, before stopping as he realised what he was doing. "Good," he managed to say, then turned around and began heading back to the others.

"Was it..." she started. He turned back and she glanced at the body of the man who had been on top of her, before turning her head back to Sam. "Was it you?"

He nodded.

"Why?" she asked.

He opened his mouth but found he had no idea what to say. "You're one of us," he finally managed to say, lamely. But if it bothered her she didn't show it. She actually looked away, her eyes drifting over the bodies.

"Thank you," she said, softly. Softer than he would have thought possible for her.

"You're welcome," he managed to croak, his throat suddenly going dry. They were staring at each other again, the silence beginning to get awkward. So he nodded dumbly and turned to head off again.

"My name is Charity" she suddenly said. "Charity Innes"

"Sammael Grant...call me Sam," he answered. She just nodded and leaned back, resting on her back, closed her eyes and let her body go limp.

He decided to leave her be. Maybe Isaac was right about her. But then again, maybe he wasn't. And if he wasn't, those last few minutes, as short and unassuming as they might have been, were progress. At least more progress than they had had with Charity so far. Sam didn't want to do anything that might ruin it.

"Where were you, anyway?" Patrick asked while reloading his rifle, as Sam strode over.

"Up there," he said, pointing at a rock not 10 metres from where they were now standing.

Patrick was nodding approvingly. "Good spot...how'd you know to go there?"

"I couldn't sleep," answered Sam, looking down and realising he was standing over Scarface's corpse, his green eye staring straight up at Sam, accusing-like. He shuddered before continuing. "So I went for a walk..."

"You always take guns with you on walks?"

"Old habit, I guess"

Patrick nodded. "Good habit to have..."

"We shouldn't stay here," said Isaac, striding up to them, a hand still rubbing at his forehead.

Sam agreed. "Scout the trail, we'll be right behind you"

Isaac nodded. He strode over to his pack, dumped randomly on the ground by one of the Inquisitors, shouldered it, then headed north, disappearing around a bend.

"Did you hear him laughing?" Patrick asked when he was sure the man was out of earshot.

"I saw it..." Sam muttered.

"It was unnatural..." Patrick said with a shudder, "just laughing like that, after the beating he took? After what they were doing to the women?" He shook his head disapprovingly. "You should keep your eye on him..."

Sam nodded his agreement. _Just like I'm doing with you,_ he thought, his eyes still on Patrick. _Just like it seems I have to do with everyone..._

* * *

They made good speed during the day and Isaac found an enclosed area for them to make camp for the night. It was small, nothing more than a groove dug into the landscape, but it would keep them out of the wind and their fire invisible from the road, and out in the wastes that was about as good as you could ask for.

Everyone felt glad to be alive, more so even than after the village attack, and they used the time to celebrate. Abby pulled out a flask filled with some of the foulest smelling alcohol Sam had ever seen, but it didn't stop any of them much. They drank, got drunk, told terrible jokes and laughed at them uncontrollably. Even Original, despite not drinking, seemed in a better mood. He still mumbled to himself, but he at least had a smile on his face.

Sam was the first to wake in the morning, mouth feeling like he had just eaten dirt, a rhythmic pounding in the front of his head almost bringing him to his knees. But he forced himself up, to grab a water flask and drink it greedily, before heading a little further away from the camp to take a piss. He hadn't had this kind of hangover since...well, since the night after Hoover Dam. He didn't get drunk often, especially not in New Vegas. If he started showing weakness someone would get the smart idea to come after him.

But out here? Even among strangers, he felt safer than he ever did in the towering Lucky 38 casino he called his home. In fact, the more he thought about it the more he found himself hating everything that had been his life. The endless meetings with casino leaders, caravan owners, people looking for this or that, begging, pleading and offering anything they thought might interest him. The constant unknown threat that Yes Man now represented. It felt suffocating compared to the wide open landscape he'd been in for the last few weeks.

He finished relieving himself and returned to their camp, putting the water flask back in his pack. He heard a rustling sound and turned suddenly, his heart beating at the chance of danger, only to see it was Isaac, mumbling and turning in his sleep. He sighed, trying to get his heart to slow down.

He let his eyes wander a little, eventually finding Charity. She was wide awake, staring at him with those cold, hard, beautiful eyes. He felt his heart beginning to beat faster again, a mild tightness beginning in his chest. He decided to smile at her and felt rightfully stupid when she didn't return it. Instead, her eyes flicked over to the ground behind him.

Still feeling foolish he turned around, both curios at what she was looking at and relieved she wasn't looking at him anymore. He saw it immediately; an empty bed roll, and judging by the size it had been Patrick's. But where the hell was Patrick himself?

Sam frowned and looked around. There was a chance the big man had left to relieve himself, like Sam had, but the area was small and there wasn't many places he could hide behind, so the fact Sam couldn't see him made him worried. As he was looking his eyes crossed over some other bed rolls; Oz's, located closest to Original's, was empty, as was Abby's.

Sam frowned harder. One of them missing wouldn't have caused him too much worry, but 3? No, something was very, very wrong here.

As if on cue Original sat up, yawned, saw Oz's empty bed roll and began screeching at the top of his lungs.

Isaac groaned. "Shut up!" he growled, throwing his pillow at Original. It hit the skinny man in the back of the head but barely phased him, if anything it made his screeching even louder. A grunt from Isaac and this time a rock, roughly the size of a fist, came hurtling through the air and crunched in to the back of Original's head, knocking him to the ground. He wasn't making any more noise, but he wasn't moving either. Isaac just rolled over and pulled his blanket back over himself, unconcerned.

"Isaac!" Sam hissed. Isaac grunted and waved his hand dismissively. "Isaac!"

"What?" he groaned, rolling over to look at Sam. "You want a rock too?"

"Look!" Sam growled, waving his hand around the campsite. Isaac sat up, a look of annoyance on his face, but it changed to confusion when he saw the empty bed rolls. He swung his head around, as if expecting to spot them. When he didn't he turned back to Sam.

"Where the hell is everyone?" he asked.

Sam shook his head. "I don't know..."

"I do," Charity said. They both looked at her.

"Where?" Sam asked.

"I'll show you...if you release me," she said. Her face didn't change. She wasn't joking or playing around. She looked as serious as ever, but that didn't mean Sam trusted her.

Isaac snorted. "Sure...you want a knife to cut our throats too?"

Sam stepped over to her, pushing her face first into the dirt. Isaac sat up, an eager look on his face. Sam took out his knife, slid it effortlessly down her back, then reefed it away savagely.

Isaac looked disappointed. Charity turned over and held her hands out, rubbing at her wrists, the cut rope sliding from her flesh and dropping to the ground. Sam crouched in front of her, letting the knife hang loosely in his fingers, swaying right in front of her face.

"Know this...you might be good, but I'm better. You cross me, you cross _us_, and I won't hesitate to put you down. Understand?" It wasn't a great way to make a new friend, but he had to do it. She looked like the kind of person that would respond to it, at least.

She nodded and got to her feet. "Follow me." Then she turned and began walking away from the camp.

"You can't be serious?" Isaac asked him, one eye-brow cocked as he watched the blonde striding away gracefully.

"I am..." he said, then he shrugged. He knew he was doing it on nothing more than a whim and, if he was being honest, his thoughts were likely more than a little clouded by her. But he didn't need Isaac to know that. "Have a little faith"

Isaac clucked his tongue, then shook his head disapprovingly. "Following you is going to get me killed one of these days..."

Sam ignored him. "Get ready to go, it's obvious she's not waiting for us...and get Original up too. You're looking after him until we find Oz again"

"Now I _know_ you're kidding"

Sam shook his head, a slight smile on his face. "You want to get paid, you'll get him moving...oh, and make sure you didn't kill him with that rock"

Isaac grumbled but did as he was told, quickly packing away his bed roll, shouldering his pack, forcing Oz's pack onto Original and then pulled him forcefully after Charity. The skinny man was dazed, stumbling after the blow to the head, but that only seemed to anger Isaac more and caused him to push Original harder.

Sam knelt down, packing up his own bed roll and shouldering his own pack, before doing the same with Patrick's. But he frowned when he came to Abby's. Frowned specifically at what was missing, before quickly looking around for it and not spotting it.

_So where in the hell is her pack?_


	12. Things Get Fun

**Author's Note: I'm truly sorry this takes me so long to update. Unfortunately life has caught up with me...ugh, who needs it, right? Anyway, hope you enjoy. =]**

* * *

Patrick opened his eyes, the throbbing in the back of his head jerking him from his sleep. The light poured in, blinding him, but as he went to block his eyes with his hand he found he couldn't move either of them. He tried to move his body, realising he was on his knees, but something forceful on his shoulder kept him down.

He decided to focus on the floor, knowing it would be nothing but damp ground. However, the ground reflected the light almost as if the light was coming from it, and now that his other senses were returning he could feel the coldness, the hardness of it under his knees. It didn't feel like dirt. It felt...metallic.

His eyesight was coming back now but, hazy as it was, he could see the slight shadows made by metal bolts, the single unrelenting slab of metal under his knees. As his vision got better he could make out the scuff marks of a floor well-used. It didn't initially occur to him to wonder how the hell he had gotten to be kneeling down on a slab of metal but, when his mind finally did catch up to his eyes, he swung his head around violently, looking for answers.

He found them in the man standing in front of him. He looked older, grey hairs beginning to show at the edges of his rough cut hair. His black leather overcoat was shined to a high polish, as was his shoes, Patrick realised, as he found his eyes flicking towards the floor. He was wearing gloves, one hand rubbing thoughtfully at his chin, his eyes examining Patrick up and down with a combination of curiosity and annoyance. He looked like an old soldier, his hard face radiating the experiences of war.

"I don't remember asking for this one," he finally said, his eyes flicking to someone standing behind Patrick.

"I know, he was...let's just say a pleasant surprise" came a voice from behind him. It was a female voice and a sickeningly familiar one at that. Patrick turned again, trying to confirm his suspicions, but the large hand on his shoulder, now that he could actually see it, still kept him down and facing forward. He did have enough room to see Oz beside him, tied up. Still knocked out, however.

"So...who is he then?" the first man asked.

"The one who got away," said the female, striding around into Patrick's view, a triumphant smile stretching across her face. Her long dark hair was still tied in a ponytail, but her leather coat looked washed and she herself looked like she had had a shower.

"Abigail" Patrick growled.

Abby clucked her tongue. "Come now, you know I like Abby better"

"Fuck yourself," he snarled. The man to her right chuckled.

"This one is at least interesting, I'll give you that...but I still don't know who he is" he said, turning to look at her.

"The one who got away" she repeated eagerly.

"Must you be so vague?"

Abby's eyes rolled and she sighed. "I heard you had a prisoner escape, a few years ago. Well...here he is" she answered brightly, presenting Patrick with her arms like he was some kind of prize.

The man's eyes widened a little, then he leaned forward, his eyes squinting as he took a closer look at Patrick. He hummed thoughtfully. "So it is, so it is," he said, straightening up, "I assume you want something for him?"

"A bonus would be nice," she answered.

He frowned. "This wasn't part of our deal"

"We can't change the deal just a _little_?"

"That's not how we do things," he said sternly.

She sighed again, then nodded a few times. "Ok, ok, how's this...you take him for free, but I get your word that you'll call me first for the next job?"

He looked across at her, his hand reaching up to scratch at his chin again. Then he shrugged. "Very well, you have a deal," he said, offering her his hand. She shook it eagerly. "I should congratulate you," he continued, "we have been searching for the Regenerating Man for a long time. I never believed a lowly bounty hunter would be the one to find him"

"Well, I do try..." she answered cheekily. "Now, where's my caps? I've got a mind to get drunk and a body to get laid"

"Of course you do," he answered wryly. He looked at someone behind Patrick. "Barger, pay her"

A big man stepped into Patrick's vision, his arms well built, his bald head reflecting the lights from the ceiling. He looked like a giant, standing a foot taller than either of the other two. He moved towards Abby, producing a small bag from one of his pockets and slapping it into her open and eager hands, the bag jingling as it landed.

"I guess I'll see you around," she said brightly, nodding at the two men.

"Why?" Patrick managed to growl before she left. She stopped, turned and strode back over to him. Kneeling down, she used one of her hands to stroke his cheek, like a mother would a child. He jerked away from it, but that only made her smile.

"Deary dear...it's not personal. It's just business" she said. Patrick looked into her eyes, hoping to see something, anything. Remorse, triumph, nausea. Anything. But there was nothing. She was as cold and hollow as he knew the Wolf was. As he knew he himself was.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," said the smaller man ruefully.

Patrick closed his eyes as she stood, but jerked as the sound of the gunshot practically slapped him in the face. Hot blobs of liquid splattered across his face, into his hair and, worst of all, into his open mouth. He spat it out and opened his eyes to see what had happened, knowing in his heart what it was.

He was just in time to watch Abby, half of her face missing, crash noisily to the floor, the bag jingling and sliding away as it slid across the floor. There was a gulp, or a squelch, from her ruined face, and then that was it. Abigail Winters was dead, lying spread eagled in a rapidly expanding pool of her own blood, right hand extended as if reaching for the bag of caps not a stride or two from her. _Greedy until the end_, he thought.

He found he didn't feel much remorse for her though.

His eyes drifted back up to the men. The one called Barger was holstering his pistol in a shoulder strap, while the other, smaller man had taken a handkerchief from inside his coat and was rubbing away at one of his sleeves.

"Maybe less gore next time, eh Barger?"

"Yes, general"

The General rubbed at his sleeve for a few more moments then, when he saw the blood wasn't going away, he sighed and tossed the bloody handkerchief on Abby's body.

"Take this one to Oppenheim. I'm sure he's eager to continue his previous experiments" he said, "And this one..." he turned his head towards Oz, "is so much more important. I'll handle him myself."

"Yes, general" the big man repeated, then, stepping over Abby's legs, he hauled Patrick roughly to his feet. Patrick had the idea to struggle, pulling away as the large hand circled around his arm, but a sharp chop to the back of his neck cut that idea short. It cut everything short, actually. As his vision started to go blurry and the black was closing in, he saw the metal floor sliding under his feet, his boot catching on Abby's outstretched arm, Barger stooping to pick up the bag of caps as they went past. Then everything went black and Patrick was replaced by someone else.

* * *

Charity was lying down a few strides in front of Sam, the pair crawling up a small hill. It had taken them a few hours to reach this spot and the sun was high in the sky, but Sam still had no idea where they were going. She reached the top of the hill and motioned for him to join her. He quickly covered the rest of the distance and peered over the lip.

It opened up into a small area, much like the one they had spent the previous night in, only a little larger. The familiar mountains still rose around them, the familiar dirt underneath them. But a very unfamiliar vertibird squatted gently in front of their eyes.

Sam had seen these vehicles only a few times. Firstly, in the Brotherhood forces back west. Then in the West Coast Enclave Remnants secret base, and again when the President of the NCR visited Hoover Dam. All three times he hadn't been impressed.

They looked like metal insects to him. They had a large bulbous body, with another, smaller section at the front serving as the cockpit. A 3-pronged landing gear system held it off the ground and now, just as before, they looked like legs to Sam. The wings stuck out from the sides, ending in engines that could tilt for takeoff and flight.

"I don't get it," he whispered, turning towards her, "why the hell are we here?"

"You can't walk to your friends," she explained, never taking her eyes off the vertibird. "We need it."

"Oh, _we_ is it," he joked, before he realised who he was talking to. She turned towards him, looking him in his eyes, one of the rare times she had done that so far. But, like always, she stared at him with a frown before making her way back down from the lip of the hill.

"Stupid..." he muttered, making a fist and softly beating his forehead with it.

He backed away from the lip of the hill and, when he was sure he couldn't be seen, he stood up and strode over to Isaac and Charity.

"So what's up there?" the tracker asked.

Sam glanced at Charity, wondering why she hadn't told filled the others in, but as he saw her frown he knew it was a stupid notion. "A vertibird."

"A what?"

"A...flying machine"

Isaac mouthed opened but nothing came out. "A...flying..._machine_?" he finally managed to say.

"You'll see," Sam said, waving his hand dismissively at the man before turning to Charity. "It's your plan...what do we do?"

"Wait here," she grunted before moving up the hill. Sam's hand gripped her arm and forced her to stop.

"You're asking for a lot of trust here," he whispered to her. She jerked her arm away angrily.

"Then don't trust me," she said coldly, before turning back around and continuing up the hill.

"Can we just shoot her already?" Isaac asked. Sam was jerked back to reality, unaware he had been staring at Charity. Or, more specifically, parts of Charity.

"No," he said sternly. "...we need her, for now at least" he managed to add.

Isaac nodded, but looked at Sam sideways, like he didn't believe the words he had just been told. "If you say so..."

"Just stay here" he said angrily, hefting his rifle and following her up the hill.

He wasn't angry at Isaac. Not really, anyway, although the constant questioning was beginning to get annoying. No, he was angry at himself. He kept staring at her, kept giving her chances, kept acting like she was one of them, like she was just another person.

But she wasn't.

And yet, as hard as he tried to force himself to look at her as the enemy, as someone not to be trusted, he couldn't help but find his mind fuzzy, his breathing short, especially when she caught him staring at her. It annoyed him that he did it and annoyed him even more that he couldn't stop himself. She wasn't exactly making it easy either, with all her scowling and cold words. He frowned at the thoughts. He was all kind of annoyed right now, but at least he had something to do.

He lied down before he reach the top of the hill, then peaked his head over. Charity was striding directly towards the vertibird, as if she didn't have a care in the world. Sam seriously wondered if she did.

He shook his rifle off his shoulder and took aim down the sights, scanning the vertibird and the surrounding area. There weren't many places for a man to hide, but it's always better to be safe than sorry. He had learnt that the hard way.

She finally made it to the machine and he saw, through his scope, her mouth working, saying something. Not a moment later a head popped out, young, boyish, with a pair of goggles strapped to his forehead. He was smiling like Charity was a long lost friend, his mouth constantly moving, spitting out questions or pleasantries. She didn't look at him any different than she looked at Sam, so he guessed that frown of hers was just permanently etched on her face. Somehow that made him feel good, although he didn't understand why.

Her arm shot out, her fist slamming into the side of the grinning man's face. He lurched sideways with a surprised squawk, so loud even Sam could hear it, and his cheek crashed into the side of the entrance to the vertibird. His head snapped backwards from it and he disappeared inside the vehicle, only his legs left sticking out. They didn't move.

She took a few steps forward, putting one foot on the lip of the door and pulling herself far enough up to poke her head inside. A moment later she jumped off, looking around the small clearing. Obviously satisfied, she turned Sam's way and waved him over. He himself turned slightly, looking back down the small hill at Isaac. He gave the tracker a thumbs up and the man nodded, grabbing Original roughly under the arm and pulling him up the slope. The smaller man whimpered a little, at the pain, maybe, but Isaac just growled and pushed up the hill faster.

The three of them walked over to the vertibird, Isaac gaping at it the entire team. Clearly a "typical" wastelander, un-used to seeing technology like this. Sam wasn't all that surprised, though. He still remembered the shock he had when he'd seen one for the first time. It wasn't often you had your life turned on its head like that.

Charity had disappeared inside, but stuck her head out as they approached, her blue eyes watching as they approached.

"This thing...flies?" Isaac stammered. Sam nodded and turned his attention to Charity.

"Can you fly it?" he asked. She shook her head, then looked down at the unconscious man at her feet.

"He can" she answered, her voice flat, as always.

Sam took a step forward, leaning in to take a closer look at the man. He noticed Charity twitch slightly, as if she had meant to pull away from him but decided against it. The man didn't appear to be breathing.

"He looks dead" Sam stated. She nudged him with her toe. Nothing happened, so she arched her leg back and kicked out savagely, her foot bouncing off the man's shoulder. He groaned softly at that. So, at least, he was still alive. "Well, we'll need to wake him up...then convince him to betray his own..."

He felt a tap on his shoulder. Turning around, he came face to face with Isaac's grin, his long and savage knife in his hands.

"My time to shine" he said absently, still smiling. Sam doubted 'shine' was the right word, but he didn't stop him.

He had never had a taste for torture and, as far as he knew, this might require it. And if it didn't, well, Sam had to admit Isaac was a hell of a lot more intimidating than he was.

Isaac dropped his pack and pulled out a canteen. Unscrewing the cap, he nodded at Charity, who looked up at Sam. When he nodded she knelt down and picked the man up, halfway, so he was sitting and she had clear access to his arms, just in case he decided to try something.

Isaac tossed the canteens contents across the man's face with a flick of his wrist.

"Wakey wakey, my man," he whispered, "wakey wakey..."

* * *

Eagle's vision came back to him in a blur, scattered images interjected with large blocks of darkness. His thoughts came similarly as dark. He had no idea of where he was, what was happening...or even _who_ he was.

He felt his head moving from side to side, although whether he was doing it himself he didn't know. Eventually a sound came through the haze of his mind, a sharp slapping noise. With each sound his memory, his awareness, came back a little more, until he remembered everything he hadn't a moment ago. As he was just grasping this new found awareness, he found himself staring at the grinning face of a heavily tanned man, his arms bare with only a leather vest covering his well-built torso.

"Here he is," he said brightly, turning to look at a man behind him. This one had a brown leather overcoat on, something black covering his torso. He had a helmet under one arm, dull red eyes seeming to stare directly at Eagle, while his other was stuffed in a pocket. He didn't look all that enthusiastic.

He felt himself slipping slightly until something jerked under his arm, pulling him back up. He looked up, seeing Charity's chin. She wasn't looking at him, rather it looked like she was staring at the overcoat man. He opened his mouth to say her name, to ask for help, until his face was fiercely jerked back down so he was looking at the tanned man again.

"Let's start with something simple, yeah? What's your name?" he asked.

Eagle looked around, seeing both the confines of the vertibird and the seemingly vast clearing he had landed in. "What...what's going on?" he managed to stammer.

The tanned man clucked his tongue, shaking his head disapprovingly. Then his hand shot out, cracking sharply against Eagle's cheek. His head rolled with the blow, tilting to his right, but the tanned man quickly moved it back to its original position.

"That wasn't what I asked. So...what's your name?" he asked again. Eagle opened his mouth to speak, but the man cut him off, raising a large knife up into Eagle's vision, letting it sway in his hand, slowly edging closer to Eagle's face. "And if you don't answer...things get fun" he finished with a smile.

Eagle swallowed. "Eagle," he answered, his voice cracking slightly.

The tanned man frowned. "That's not much of a name..." he looked up, behind Eagle, then seemed to shrug. "Fair enough. You can fly this thing?" he asked, waving his knife around the vertibird. Eagle nodded. "And you're going to take us to...where are we going?" he asked, turning around to the overcoat man. That man shrugged, but Charity answered.

"The Stand," she said. Eagle didn't understand what was happening. Why was she helping them?

"Right," the tanned man said, turning back to Eagle, "so...you'll take us to this...'Stand'?"

"I don't understand..." Eagle stammered, looking up at Charity, "what are you doi-"

He was cut off as something flashed across his face, leaving a sting across his cheek. He thought it was another slap until, looking down, he saw a slight line of blood across the tanned man's knife. The man was smiling.

"I told you it would get fun..." he whispered, leaning in close, like he was about to tell a secret, "...don't think _this_ is the fun either. It gets a lot better soon, trust me..."

"Yes," Eagle croaked, still not completely understanding what was happening but understanding enough to know his life was in danger. "I'll take you anywhere..."

The tanned man frowned and turned around to the overcoat man, who shrugged.

"There you go...easy," he said.

"Too easy..." the tanned man mumbled, turning back around. "What are you playing at, hmm? Going to lead us in to a trap?"

"N-no...what?" Eagle stammered, his voice cracking clearly this time.

"Maybe I should take an eye, just to be sure," the tanned man was saying, leaning frighteningly close, knife turning to just the right angle to be jammed through one of Eagle's eyes. He tried to move away but found he couldn't move, Charity was still holding tight.

"No," said the overcoat man. The tanned man stopped and turned around.

"But-" he started.

"No," the overcoat repeated, this time sterner. The tanned man huffed, shoving his knife in a sheath he had attached to his belt at the small of his back, then striding away. The overcoat man turned his attention to Charity. "Get him up and get him ready, it's time to go"

Eagle was hauled to his feet and helped, or forced, into the cockpit on unsteady legs.

"You heard him," Charity said, her voice flat as always. Eagle wanted to say something to her, turned to look at her even, but her scowl shut him up real quick. His hand rose nervously, began flicking switches, pressing buttons, running through the usual pre-flight routine. They were shaking so bad he had to go back and re-do some of them, and he knew he was about to betray his people, his _friends_, but at least he was still alive to do it. And right now, that's all that mattered to him.

She seemed satisfied he was doing what he was supposed to so she moved out of the cockpit, the sounds of her feet leaving the vehicle entirely. When he was sure she was gone and, most importantly, unable to hear him, he muttered "traitor" under his breath.

But in that moment, he didn't know if he was talking to her or himself.

* * *

Garrett was running. That was all he had known, for as short a time as his memory covered. He didn't know why he was running. He didn't want to know. All he knew is that he was and it's all he wanted to do.

He ran down shining corridors, light coming from strange panels in the roof. It hurt his eyes to look at them so he stopped, but he also found it harder to run when he was looking at things. People went past him in blurs, some wearing white, some wearing green, some standing and watching while others ran this way or that. Some even took swipes at him, but he was too fast for them, just like he was too fast for the others.

It was the only other memory he had, apart from the running. But it was hazy, foreign, like the first moments after a night of heavy drinking when you forgot everything you've ever known. He was moving, floating maybe, towards a shining slab, supported by other shining things, all standing up like they were people themselves. There were two angels that flew around him, covered in white with glowing orange heads. Behind them too he saw daemons, black as night with green eyes, staring at him, trying to kill him with their stares, he knew it.

He remembered the angels pulling, tugging at him, trying to take him apart. They took a part of his arm. It was pink underneath, nothing like the grey they had taken, but it was still his freaking arm. He panicked, began struggling. The daemons came, trying to restrain him, but he was already up and moving.

They moved slow, comically so, and he went through the motions like a practiced dancer. Arm came down, grey against black, and one of the daemons fell. The second lunged, fell right into Garrett's waiting arms as he side stepped. His hands went opposite directions, the daemons head twisting swiftly, a loud crack echoing through the haze of memory and sounding in Garrett's ears even now. The second daemon slipped from Garrett's fingers, landing beside his fallen comrade. Then the low whining noise had begun and Garrett had started running.

It continued, the noise, even now, pushing Garrett on, a sound becoming as familiar as his own heart beat. He flew down the shining corridors, noticing that there were less people now.

Then, suddenly, a gap in the walls and a flash of blue. He stopped so suddenly he almost went head over heels, but managed to stay on his feet and turn around, heading towards it.

It was a room, an office, he knew, although he didn't know how he knew. But it wasn't the chairs, or the table, or the filing cabinets or the computer that interested him, it was the large window squatting on the wall directly in front of him.

It looked out on mountains, what he knew where mountains, strangely blue like the sky above. Clouds hung low around them, swept down them, leaving a fog in the valley below, hiding the ground beneath them.

The window and the room he was in was clearly a very high distance off the ground. He tried to look down, to see the bottom, but even with his head pressed against the glass he saw nothing but rocks and clouds. Nothing that looked like ground.

_Down_, a voice whispered.

He turned, his eyes frantically looking around the room, searching for more daemons. There were plenty of dark spaces, seeing as the only light was coming from the window, but no green eyes met his, no dark shapes emerged from the shadows. There was nobody, nothing that would have made a noise.

_Down_, the voice said again. _Down is freedom_.

"Down?" Garrett whispered into the air.

_Down,_ it repeated. _Down._

_DOWN!_

Garrett felt himself running, out of the room, back into the shining corridors, although he didn't remember telling himself to, or even thinking about it. The voice commanded and he did, which might have unsettled him if he hadn't become so focused on running.

He found a door with the word 'STAIRS' on it, instinctually went through it, and kept running, down the small metal planks that led down. Down was freedom, that was all he knew. He kept repeating it, over and over, the words alone fuelling his muscles, fighting back tiredness.

He kept running down the planks until there were no more planks to run down. There was a door at the end though and he went through.

Light met his eyes, harsh and bright. The room was full of metal constructs, big squares with pointed objects sticking out the top of them, their tips ending in shining balls. They were all placed orderly, Garrett could see, the same number on the right as on the left, but stretching out for as far as he could see. Blue streams leapt around the room, almost haphazardly, jumping from one metal construct to the next. Garrett was fascinated by it. He found himself following their movements, trying to predict where they would come from and where they would go. He was so occupied he didn't initially hear the sounds behind him.

He moved as quickly as he could, diving to his left, but it wasn't quick enough. Something hit his arm, the pink one, and left it stinging, left it in more pain than he had thought possible. He looked down not really knowing what he was expecting to see, but being especially unprepared for what he did.

His arm, from just above the elbow, was missing. The skin was black, charred, like an over-cooked piece of meat.

_We won't bleed out_, the voice said. For some reason it didn't make him feel any better, nor did it stop him from falling to his knees and howling in pain.

A man entered his field of vision from the right. He was a big man, with big arms and a bald head that seemed to reflect the dancing lights. In his hand he had a large sword, the same, albeit smaller, lights dancing across its surface. He knew that it was that energy that had cooked his arm, although how he knew...he didn't know.

"You're faster than you look," the man grunted, his voice deep. "More trouble than you're worth, I say. And so does the General"

Garrett looked up, his eyes twitching, feeling tears running down his cheeks. But he didn't say a word. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know anything but running and, as hard as he might try, it didn't seem like that was an option now.

"No last words?" the man asked, then he shrugged slightly, "To each his own. I promise you, it will be quick..."

As the man was talking the sword was raised above his head, his bald scalp now reflecting the lights from the sword rather than the ones around him. Garrett sunk back a little, resigned to the fact that his short experience of a life was about to be cut even shorter. He had no regrets, or nothing to regret at least. He wished for more time, as most men do at times like this. He even apologized to the daemons and the angels. Good and evil seemed like such pointless matters now.

_No_, the voice said firmly.

Garrett felt an unfamiliar sinking feeling. He began to scream, scream his lungs out, but he heard nothing come from his lips but a low growl. Blackness began at the edges of his vision, leaking out until it covered everything, left him with only his screams.

The original inhabitant of the body was gone. Garrett was locked away in the depths of a troubled mind, as he had been for so many years. And now, just as then, a dominant personality took over, more suited to the harsh wasteland environment they were in, a true killer built for the new kill or be killed world.

His name was Patrick, and he wasn't going down without a fight.


	13. The End of Three

Sam shuffled nervously, trying to get rid of an itch he couldn't scratch. He had always hated wearing power armour. The bulky full suit of armour may have provided extra protection, and the joint servos may have boosted his strength, but he had never quite gotten comfortable wearing it. It always made him feel oversized, too big for his skin, and all that extra strength and protection had never been able to make up for the reduction in mobility, at least in his mind. Taking bullets, no matter how well armoured you were, had never seemed like a good idea to him.

Of course, his feelings weren't helped by the fact he was in _stolen_ power armour, strolling through an Enclave base like he belonged there. Charity was walking slightly in front of him, seemingly unconcerned by her situation, especially the pistol he had stuck in her back.

She was in stolen armour as well, stripped down just like when they had found her, missing her helmet and the sections that covered her arms, blonde fringe draped casually over one side of her face. He, on the other hand, was completely suited, afraid to show his face in what he figured would be a hostile place. He kept waiting for a shout or an alarm or even a bullet to signal that they had been found out, but it never came.

The vertibird ride had been short, the time spent mostly on putting on their suits of armour. The pilot, Eagle, had done his part without complaint, although Sam caught him throwing Charity dirty looks whenever she couldn't wasn't looking. Isaac and Original had stayed with the vehicle; partly to watch it, partly to keep their unpredictable behaviour somewhere they couldn't do much damage. Sam didn't want to take any more chances than he had to.

They were in a large room, huge in fact. Vertibirds were scattered around, tubes being fed into them, men in overalls scurrying over them, chatting about this or that, tossing tools to each other. Behind it all stood the entrance, an enormous space in the side of the mountain that let the vertibirds come and go as they pleased.

The pair made their way across the hangar, towards the back, where double doors led deeper into the mountain complex. There were several guards around the doors, all dressed in the black power armour as well, but none of them so much as looked at them as they strode into the complex. Sam let himself hope, just for a moment, that everything might go to plan.

The doors led to a corridor, metal walls reflecting the light from the panels that lined the middle of the ceiling. Every corridor seemed to be identical as they passed them, with doors occasionally cut into the walls leading to rooms.

He hadn't realised it at first but now, as they took a right for the second time, he saw that he was following Charity. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to the side.

"Where are we going?" he hissed quietly. She glared at him and opened her mouth to speak.

"Can I help you?" someone asked.

Sam whirred around, jumping at the sound of the voice. Just down the corridor stood a slight man, covered with simple green fatigues and with a clipboard tucked neatly under one arm. He walked over to them as Sam let go of Charity, straightened up and did his best to hide his pistol behind his back. Sam opened his mouth to speak but, with horror, realised he had no idea what to say.

"Charity Innes, 2nd Irregulars," came Charity's voice, "We're here to see the General,"

"Ah, of course...one of Captain Abercrombie's men?" the man asked, flinching slightly as he said the word 'man'. Charity gave him her usual scowl but still nodded. He looked the corridors up and down, then turned back to her with a slightly quizzical look. "Do you realise you're going the wrong direction?"

She frowned, leaned out to sweep the corridors herself. "Its...been awhile," she managed to say, her eyes still searching the corridors. Sam didn't know why she was bothering. They all looked the same to him.

The man sighed, lifted his wrist to check his watch. "Alright, I've got some time, follow me," he said. Then he turned and swiftly marched down one of the corridors, back the way they had come. Charity fell in behind him, Sam joining her a moment later.

"What's happening?" he whispered, careful not to let the man hear. She glanced at him but didn't say anything. He ground his teeth in frustration, knowing there wasn't much he could do. Savagely beating the information out of her might draw attention to himself, after all.

They continued walking for a while, twisting and turning through the various corridors until Sam swore they had passed the same spot 3 times. He had no idea how someone could know their way around this place without a map stuck to their forehead. _Maybe that's what's on the guy's clipboard_, he thought?

They were striding down another identical corridor when Charity suddenly ducked into a side room. Sam stopped, eyes flicking between the dark room she had entered and the man they had been following, still striding ahead. After a few steps the man must have noticed they weren't following anymore as he turned, a questioning look on his face.

"What are you doing...where's your friend?" he asked. Sam didn't know what to say so he just pointed into the room. The man rolled his eyes and moved over to the door.

"I don't have time for thi-" he started before Charity's fist cut him off, a straight left that took him right in the nose, snapping his head back. He took a few stumbling steps back, dropping his clipboard, and fell right into Sam, who pushed him back on an instinct, right back into Charity.

She dragged him into the room and Sam joined her, swiftly checking the corridor to make sure nobody had seen them and being sure to pick up the clipboard as he went past. He gave it a quick glance; to his surprise it wasn't a map but some kind of list. Judging from the items, food and the like, it was a supply list.

He jerked at the sound of a sharp crack and looked over, seeing Charity tossing the man's limp body to the ground. He wasn't moving.

"What are you doing?" he hissed, tossing the clipboard to the floor angrily and taking his helmet off.

She ignored him and strode over to a computer screen sitting on one of the walls. Sam hadn't given the room much attention when they first entered, having been concerned with other things, but he saw now it looked like a security station of some kind. One wall had a large computer system on it, several monitors, keyboards and chairs in front of it. There was a metal desk that dominated the middle of the room and a pair of filing cabinets in an opposite corner. And, of course, there was the dead body lying between them.

She was typing furiously, words appearing and disappearing on her monitor quicker than Sam could read them.

"Give me your wrist device" she ordered, holding her hand out.

"My what?"

She pointed at his wrist, the one with the Pip-Boy strapped to it. The small device had proven useful ever since he'd gotten it from the doctor in Goodsprings; it had a map in it that updated in real-time, a database that collected any information he seemed to come in contact with and, most importantly, it was connected to his blood stream to provide up to date medical information as well as having a port to stick all manner of chemicals and medicines directly into his body.

It wasn't much to look at either, nothing more than a tube of bronze that covered his forearm, a glowing green screen on the top and a few buttons on the side. It had saved his life a few times already though, and he was loath to give it up.

He narrowed his eyes. "What for?" he asked.

"Just give it!" she snapped, waving her open hand at him again.

He sighed, loudly, making sure she heard the frustration in it. If she did, she didn't show it, so he removed the glove from his power armour, then his forearm piece before detaching the Pip-Boy and handing it to her reluctantly, having to step over the body in the process.

She snatched it and turned back to the computer. Pressing a key on the keyboard, a small compartment opened to the left of the screen. She reached inside, producing a long cable that she plugged into the Pip-Boy, then pushed a separate key. A bar appeared on the computer screen as Sam put the rest of his armour back on. It slowly started filling up with small blocks. When it was filled the computer gave a low whistle which the Pip-Boy seemed to answer with its own. Unhooking the cable, she spun and pushed it forcefully into Sam's chest before turning back to the computer.

"What did you do to it?" he asked, moving it around in his hands so he could look it over. He felt foolish when he realised he wouldn't be able to see anything by looking at the outside of it.

"It's been uploaded with the base schematics," she explained in her usual steely voice, not taking her eyes off the computer screen, "we're going to have to split up."

"We're going to have to what?"

She sighed explosively, smacked a key angrily and a few of the other monitors lit up, showing video feeds into several different rooms. Sam took them in one by one.

The first was an empty prison cell, light flowing in from outside and leaving bar shaped shadows across the floor. The second was a laboratory of some kind, with a few people in white lab coats in an animated discussion, huddled around a computer. The third was a medical room. It had a slab of a table that dominated the middle of the room, several small trays located around it holding various surgical tools. People, this time in green coats, were busy crowding over the table, passing equipment around to each other, talking excitedly. He couldn't see what was on the table though...

Suddenly one of the men dropped a large, saw-like instrument. As he bent down to reach it, Sam finally caught a glimpse of what they were working on.

It was Oz.

His body was cut open in several areas, healing rapidly around the wounds and obviously forcing these 'doctors' to continually re-open them. His face was a mask of pain, his eyes squeezed tight, his jaw clenched so tight it looked like it might explode. His hands were shackled and, while Sam couldn't see them, he guessed his feet would be as well.

"My god..." he whispered.

She pointed to the third monitor. "The first man is there, undergoing experiments. The second man..." she trailed off, frowning at the other two monitors, "I haven't found your other man" she finished.

He opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off as a loud alarm came on. Charity froze, acting like moving might make things worse. Sam didn't want to take the chance, so he didn't move either.

"Is it us?" he finally asked, not meaning to whisper as softly as he did.

Charity shook her head. "Something worse," she muttered, "I know where your second man is..."

* * *

Patrick gritted his teeth at the pain, though it did nothing to dull it. He kept trying to move his arm, forgetting that it was missing. Each time he would look down, almost curiously, only to have his heart skip a beat as he realised his arm was gone. He would look away, focus on his ragged breathing. His head was swimming, from adrenaline, shock or worse he didn't know, but eventually he would forget and go through the process again.

Look down, no arm, heart stops. Over and over he did it, like he couldn't do anything else.

_No_ he thought savagely.

He needed to focus, focus on anything but his damn arm. He looked around, watching the arcs of electricity still jumping from construct to construct, but they were too fast and too numerous for him to watch without feeling even worse. So he focused on the only other thing in the room; the big bald man with the sword.

The other man, in the leather coat, had called him Barger. A towering mass of muscle, almost a head taller than Patrick, he cut an imposing figure. Arcs of light continued to dance around him, covering him in shadow randomly, making him look like supernatural, almost, like a god from some ancient legend. His sword was still above his head, ready for the killing stroke.

_No_, Patrick thought savagely.

His left hand crept down his leg, fumbling for his boot. He didn't take his eyes off the man in front of him, not wanting him to see he was doing anything. He felt around, looking for it...there. A button, about half-way up his boot. He pressed it in, gripped the small handle that popped out and roared to his feet.

He moved fast, faster than he would have thought he could of. By the look on Barger's face, faster than _he_ expected too. The knife in his hand wasn't big, it had to be small to fit in that compartment, but Patrick knew it would do the job.

He came up too hard, however, and crashed into Barger, knocking the now-tangled pair back a few steps. Patrick was hissing, snarling, Barger growling, the pair sounding like a snake fighting a bear. But the snake only has to bite once to win...

Patrick pushed out with his good hand, knife cutting shallowly into Barger's chest. The bigger man swept his arm down, grabbing Patrick's back and forcing him in closer again. Patrick swung his right arm, forgetting that it was nothing but a stump now, and the charred flesh slapped Barger across the face, leaving a smear of charcoal across one cheek. It knocked him off balance, just a little, but more than enough for Patrick.

His left arm went back, swept up in a murderous arc. The knife thudded into Barger's neck, going up to the hilt and then some, so far that Patrick almost lost his grip on it. Hot blood poured out around it, covered Patrick's hand and began dripping down his arm armoured arm.

Barger's eyes went wide with shock, his mouth opening to give a surprised gurgle. The electrified sword dropped from his hands, hitting the floor with a loud clang, and the giant joined it with an even louder thud. His hands moved shakily to his throat, pointlessly trying to stop the blood flowing from the gaping wound.

Patrick stood, hunched over, left hand on his knee. His breathing was ragged, his stump of a right arm hurting worse than ever, something wet seeping from it and dripping to the floor with a steady rhythm. But he was still alive.

He looked around and spotted a computer terminal beside an open elevator, what Barger must have used to beat Garrett down here. He stumbled over it to, mashed the buttons on the keyboard until the monitor came to life. Computer code scrawled across it, none of it he could understand.

_What is it,_ he asked Mo? There was no answer. _Maurice!_

_Uh...what?_ Came his counterpart's voice, echoing through his skull. He sounded euphoric, like he was just woken from a pleasant dream. Or snapped out of a drug state. Patrick knew what that man preferred to do when he was locked away.

_This, what is it_, Patrick asked again, nodding at the terminal.

_...a computer?_ Mo answered hesitantly.

_I know that_! Patrick snarled, _what's it do?_

A deep breath, then a sigh. _Looks...looks like it controls power flow to the base...wait, base? Where the hell are we?_

_Can we hurt them with it?_ Patrick asked, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice.

_Who the hell is 'them'?_

_Could we?_ Patrick persisted.

_Yeah...I mean, I guess_, Mo answered, _what's happening?_

_Vengeance,_ Patrick growled.

* * *

Mo knew the sensation, the feeling of falling forward with no way to stop yourself. He gasped, as he always did, when it finally stopped. He was back in control of the body.

He howled as a sudden wave of pain shook his body. He looked around wildly, eventually spotting his right arm was missing.

"What the fu-"

_We don't have time_, came Patrick's voice, echoing through his skull as it always did when they talked like this.

_Uh..._ Mo grunted through the pain, _time for what?_

_Vengeance, _Patrick repeated, _overload their power generators. Wipe them out._

_Wipe who out? _

A deep breath, then a sigh. _The people, here, did _this_ to us. Vengeance...it's time for vengeance._

_Did...this?_ Mo asked, confused._ I thought it was slavers? The Legion?_

_No, it wasn't. I remember it all now. Just...can you do it?_ Patrick asked.

Mo sighed, gritted his teeth at the pain and focused on the computer screen. Or, tried to focus. The pain was all-consuming, running up from his stump and spreading throughout his body until it was all he could feel, all he could think about. It filled his mind until it felt heavy, slow.

_I can't...focus_, he grunted eventually.

_Hold on..._ came Patrick's voice. A moment later the pain lessened, still there, but enough was gone to work. _Can you do it...now?_ Patrick asked, his voice laboured.

_You...took my pain?_ Mo asked, surprised.

_Can you? _Patrick asked, annoyed.

_Yeah...yeah, I can_, Mo answered.

He turned his attention back to the screen, lifted his right arm up to type, remembered he had no right arm and so lifted up his left instead. It was awkward typing with his off-hand, but he managed to do it, albeit slower than usual.

He passed through menus, examining sections of code when he needed to, eventually coming to a core directory. Finding the safety protocols, he overrode them with a chunk of his own code that he quickly typed in, then found the generator controls and set them for 150% output. A warning siren started, lights flicked off above him as a solitary red, spinning one was all that was left, squatting just above the elevator doors. A radio terminal next to the computer began blaring, panicked voices all asking the same questions at once.

_It's done_, he told Patrick, _now what?_

_Now...it ends_.

Mo knew the sensation, the feeling of falling backwards with no way to stop yourself. His eyes closed, he gasped...and Patrick re-opened his eyes.

* * *

Charity was still typing furiously on the keyboard as Sam had his head stuck in the crack in the door, watching the corridor. Shortly after the alarm had started he had seen people streaming this way or that, seemingly random and obviously panicked. But none of them moved towards their room.

"So where is he?" Sam asked.

"Reactor room," she answered, not taking her eyes from the computer.

Sam clicked on his Pip-Boy, scrolled across to the maps and found the reactor room...at the bottom of the base.

"Wait...how are we supposed to get to the bottom without getting noticed?"

"_We_ don't. _You_ will take the elevator at the end of the hall," she answered.

"And where the hell are you going?"

"To get the other one," she growled, finally finishing what she was typing and rounding on him. She pushed her way past him to the man she had killed earlier, rolled him over and knelt down to pick up his weapon, a glowing plasma pistol.

"Whoa, who said anything about _you_ having a weapon?" Sam asked, hand resting gently on the hilt of his own pistol.

She got up and walked over to him until she was right in his face, until she was so close he could smell her. His heart skipped a beat as he took a deep breath of her, almost forgetting everything else. She cocked her head sideways a little, her eyes looking over his entire face, curiously studying it.

"You know this needs to happen," she whispered, almost seductively, the usual steel in her voice replaced by an uncharacteristic softness. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to think of something to say. He couldn't focus with her so close and, he realised, closing his eyes didn't help much.

He eased them open to find she was gone, door wide open. With a curse he followed her out, shoving his helmet back on angrily. Angry at her, angry at himself, angry at everything.

Everything was chaos outside. Red lights were flickering, people were pushing each other to get nowhere, screaming and shouting without actually using words. Someone was pushed into him, a scrawny man in normal looking clothes. Sam grabbed him by the collar angrily, hurled him one handed back into the crowd, bowling a few of them over and creating enough of a gap for Sam to force himself through.

He stood as tall as he could, looking for Charity, but in this chaos it was pointless. She was well and truly gone. So, he guessed, they were following her plan, which meant going after Patrick. He checked his Pip-Boy for the elevator she mentioned, then began pushing his way towards it.

The crowd felt like a surging tide and, even with his power armour-improved strength, he was struggling to push through the mass. All of the bumps, pushes and hits he was trying to ignore were getting more and more annoying with each one which, combined with his already angry mood, made him even worse.

Clenching one gloved fist he swung an arcing right hook, clubbing down two men and a woman. He stared down at her with a frown. Hitting women wasn't honourable, he knew that, knew he knew right and wrong.

He swung again, this time with his left, and hit another woman in the face with a sickening crunch. She went down and disappeared amongst the crowd. It was beginning to work as people moved around the lethal onslaught, giving him enough room to move. It wasn't honourable, he knew, but, as he clenched his right fist again, he knew it had to be done. He could debate the ethics of it when he got out.

_If_ he got out, he reminded himself.

* * *

Farilla looked across at her husband, unsure how to react to his frantic packing. Their room, so decadent and filled with trinkets from both the wastes and Pre-War, was now a complete mess. Clothes were tossed randomly across the floor, some of her favourite ones among them, and Augustus, the General, was going through the draws like a madman, tossing the ones he liked into a large leather bag and just tossing the rest.

She wasn't sure how long it had been since she'd felt like this; her heart pounding, her mouth dry..._fear_. As one of the elite class in a technologically advanced people, there wasn't a whole lot to be afraid of.

"What's happening?" she asked hesitantly.

He rounded on her, his hair a mess, his face scrunched up. It softened a little as he saw her blanche. "I'll explain everything once we're out of here, dear," he said, doing his best to be soothing and failing, "but now...could you just help me pack?"

She nodded dumbly and moved over to one of her favourite dresses, lying crumpled on the floor.

"Not that one," he roared, making her jump. It was his that voice softened this time. "Only what we need, dear, only what we _need_"

She nodded dumbly again.

The gunshot made her jump and, for a split second, she thought it might have been her that got shot. She whirled around, fully expecting to see blood beginning to seep out of her dress and feel a gaping hole where her liver should be. Instead she found herself staring into the dead eyes of her husband, slumped over the suitcase he had been packing with a bullet-sized hole in his forehead.

She was horrified, feeling her heart leap into her throat and her stomach collapsing as small as it could. She wanted to stop looking but his eyes, his tongue, lolling to one side, kept her eyes locked on him.

It was the voice that snapped her out of it.

"Farilla, we have to go," it insisted. She turned towards it, standing in the doorway. It had a mop for hair, a baby face, a soldier's uniform on. It was Steven.

"S-Steven," she stammered, "what..." she trailed off, her eyes floating back down to the General's body, a still widening pool of blood forming underneath it.

She felt something grab her arm, roughly, then her world began to move. Outside of the decadent chaos, away from her dead husband. Into red corridors filled with shouting people, pushing and shoving, screaming and shouting, another kind of chaos, one she didn't understand any better.

"Don't worry," she heard him say over the noise, "I'll explain everything once we're out of here..."

_Dear_, she thought, finishing the sentence in her mind.

* * *

Patrick shuddered as the pain swept over him, the ache from his stump that spread up and around until it seemed to fill every part of his body. The pain he had helped alleviate for Mo, returned twice as bad. Still, he knew there was work to be done so he gritted his teeth and got to it.

He strode over to Barger's corpse, stepping over the man, his hands still clutched around his neck in a death grip, trying to stop blood that had already flown into a pool around his neck.

Patrick found his small knife, picked it up and strode over to the elevator. He pushed the button to open the door, waited till it clicked all the way open, then jammed his knife into the small gap under the door, using the small piece of a metal as a stopper. He stood back, waited for the doors to automatically try to shut. They did and, to his satisfaction, they barely moved, programmed not to close with something in the way.

With that taken care of he went back to Barger and picked up the larger man's sword. He strode over to the door to the staircase, closed it and stuck the sword between the handle and a piece of metal that was jutting from the frame. It was clearly designed to be used in this way, likely as a last resort if the base was ever overrun so that someone could lock themselves down here and blow the base. Just like Patrick was doing now.

_So...what now_, asked Mo?

Patrick leaned against the wall next to the door, let himself slide down until his ass hit the metal floor and sighed. _Now...we die,_ he answered simply.

_WHAT?_ Mo screeched, angrily, panicked. Patrick felt him pulling, tugging, trying to regain control of the body. But, like he had done with Garrett, Patrick squashed it, threw Mo in a mental cage he could never escape from. Could do nothing but scream, like Garrett had been doing for years, screams that echoed in Patrick's mind constantly, filled his dreams and created his waking nightmares.

Just like with Garrett, Patrick knew what he was doing wasn't right. But when something needs to be done you do it and worry about everything else after, if there's time.

Except there wouldn't be any time, not for Patrick or Mo or Garrett or the several other personalities that had been created by random events and swiftly destroyed by Patrick over the years. Better to never exist than live this way, he had always reasoned. Just like he was now. Too bad that Mo had emerged before him or he wouldn't have had to suffer either.

After a while he began to drift off, his eyelids growing heavier. From tiredness or blood loss he didn't know, nor did he care. It didn't matter much at this point.

"Patrick?" a voice came through, over the radio beside the computer, seemingly louder than the others. A familiar voice, but this time a welcome voice.

With a groan Patrick got to his feet, made his way over to the device mounted on the wall.

"Sam?" he asked.

"It's me."

"Where are you?" Patrick asked, "How did you even get here?"

"I'm in a computer room...or something," Sam answered, his voice crackling slightly with static, "their system is so easy to hack into...Patrick, I can see you through the cameras, I'm...I can see your arm" he finished lamely.

"Yeah" was all Patrick said. What else was there to say to that?

"I tried to reach you but the damn elevators are out..."

"I know, I did it"

"You did? Great. Then you can fix it and I'll come get you..."

"No," Patrick said sternly.

"What?"

"No," he repeated, sterner.

"What do you mean _no_?"

"I mean...this has been coming for a long time. Ever since Tonopah, even before that...I'm ready for it" he said. He found his voice choking with unfamiliar emotion, his eyes welling up. "Get out, while you can..."

There was a pause. "I'm not leaving you behind," Sam said. Patrick was surprised by the determination he heard in the man's voice.

"At least you won't have to pay me," he said jokingly, forcing out a laugh that sounded as fake as it was.

"Patrick..." Sam said softly, surprising Patrick again with the emotion he heard in the voice, "What about Mo?"

Patrick stopped and listened, heard Mo's screaming alongside Garrett's. Screaming for freedom, for life.

"Mo is ready too" he lied, smoother than he thought he could.

"I...I can't just leave you behind, to die alone" Sam said, exasperated, but Patrick could hear the resignation in his voice.

"Yes you can. Go, find the Vault, finish what we started..." Patrick started, then he sighed deeply. "And Sam?"

"...yeah?"

"Get out...get out of this life, while you can. Don't die like me..."

Patrick leant back, smashed the small radio with his good hand, metal, plastic and wiring scattering across the floor. He turned to lean against the wall, slumped down to the ground like he had before, hearing now the pounding on the staircase door. He smiled at them, trying to get in, trying to stop the inevitable. They ought to just accept it like he had, so long ago.

He let his eyes close, slowly drooping, darkness closing around his vision. He took in a deep breath and let it out, sighing his last breath, a look of contentment on his face. His last thoughts were of a peaceful garden, him sitting alone in the dirt, pruning back beautiful red roses, no screams, no gunshots, no death, just sunlight and hard work.

He had found peace, for the first time in his life.

Then he was gone.


	14. Hell of a Day

Oz shuddered as another wave of pain swept over him, his body healing itself slower than usual, going in stages and obviously struggling to cope with the _amount_ of punishment he had taken. His mind was swimming with the pain, his eyesight was blurry, he had no idea where he was or how he had gotten there.

He knew he was moving somewhere, through bright places with splashes of red coming and going. He knew he was being carried by black beasts, green eyes occasionally looking at him balefully.

Another wave of pain swept over him and he shuddered again, but this time it swept away some of the fuzz in his mind. He looked up, saw the black armoured Enclave soldiers hauling him down a bright corridor by his arms. He looked back, spotted a few behind him, heard them talking.

"The General isn't responding to calls," the one holding Oz's left arm said.

"Fuck him," the one holding the right spat, "our job is to get this piece of shit out alive. We do it, we get out too, and that's all I care about"

"But we could be heroes" the first one insisted.

"What do you think we're doing with this?" asked the second, roughly pulling Oz's arm up to indicate who he was talking about, "we get this out and we're in the history books, baby!"

Someone behind them hollered his encouragement.

"I guess..." the first muttered.

Oz let his head sag back down, finding he was staring down the long corridor. Something was coming closer, something black but with spots of cream and a tuft of brightness as its top. His eyes were still fuzzy, so he couldn't see what it was, and he found he didn't care. His heart was in his stomach, well and truly resigned to more pain. He forced his eyes to the floor, watching the lines as they passed.

"Ma'am," he heard the first say.

"I'm here to take the prisoner," a woman said, her voice cold, flat, and strangely familiar.

Oz felt the two men shuffle a little. "We were given strict orders to take him to the vertibird ourselves," the first said.

"Piss off tart," snarled the second, "this is _our_ ticket out..."

There was a loud _zap_ and Oz felt heat rush past his face. The man on his left fell away and he felt his body tip that way, until the man on the right let go and he completely fell, watching as the lines got closer and closer and closer...

His chin smacked against the metal ground, his teeth digging into his tongue. He groaned, but he couldn't hear it over the next 3 _zaps_ that followed, feeling heat pass over him with each one.

Blearily he looked up, became aware of black shapes surrounding him on the ground, before he was heaved back up, coming face to face with a blonde haired woman, one long lock of her fringe covering the right side of her face. She looked him over, piercing blue eyes travelling up and down his damaged body, holding him up easily with one hand.

"Are you hurt?" she asked.

His head lolled to the side and he spat out a mouthful of blood, his tongue bleeding from the fall.

"I'm good" he managed to slur, before the world started swaying again. He lurched to his left, legs collapsing under him, but her firm grip kept him upright.

"Come on," she growled, pulling him along the hallway, "we've got to go."

* * *

"Patrick? PATRICK?"

The radio blared static, then other voices, panicked, frightened. But there was no Patrick. Sam's stomach lurched as he realised there never would be.

_Get out of this life, while you can. Don't die like me..._ The words echoed in his head, reverberated around his skull. _Don't die like me..._

The door to the room burst open and Sam turned, came face to face with an Enclave soldier in power armour. The man stood there for a moment, arms spread and blocking the door. He seemed to stare at Sam, stare through him, and Sam felt his hand dropping to the hilt of his revolver, his breathing slowing, sure he had been found out.

"We've got to get out of here, man!" the soldier suddenly screamed, panicked like everyone else, before disappearing back out the door.

Sam let out a deep breath, let his hand move away from his revolver, let his mind get a hold of itself.

He took two large strides and reached the door. There were less people now, the majority of them having already moved through before, but there were still enough to crowd the corridor. Here and there, when Sam caught glimpses of the floor, he would spot a body, unmoving. Dead.

The overhead lights had gone out, likely because of the generator. Charity had explained before that the alarm meant someone had overloaded the power supply; a catastrophic event that would destroy the entire base. A fitting end for Patrick, Sam thought suddenly.

But with the overheads out all that was left was the red emergency ones and they continued spinning, casting demonic shadows on anything that moved. Sam looked up and down the corridor but, like before, he could see nothing distinguishing, so he re-checked his Pip-Boy. He had to get back to the hangar and according to the map it was to his left.

He surged from the door, knocking a few people down. They weren't much, dressed in Pre-War clothes, clutching suitcases and prized possessions like they were the only thing keeping them afloat right now. He gave them a glance, maybe a slight apologetic nod, but then continued down the hall. There was no time for them now.

* * *

Farilla was becoming more aware of her surroundings. The red flashing lights, the dull whining noise, the rush of people around her. She knew something was wrong.

She looked up at the man who was leading her through his chaos by her arm, his back to her. For a moment she thought it was Augustus, as he was when he was younger. But as she thought of him she remembered his dead body, his glazed eyes, the pool of blood widening underneath him. She almost doubled over and, if not for the hand on her arm, she would have.

Steven, the chubby faced, doe-eyed young love conquest. Murderer. Kidnapper. She expected rapist might be added to that list when it was all said and done.

Strangely, though, she felt no emotion when these thoughts crossed her mind now. Her emerging clarity seemed to come at the expense of her feelings. She felt no twinge through her stomach. Her heart didn't seem to be beating any faster than it would normally. She was thinking clinically, detached from the world.

Someone bumped her shoulder and jerked her back to reality.

Steven pulled her through a set of double doors into a large, cavern-like area she knew to be the hangar. The roof hung miles above them, it seemed, and hundreds of vertibirds were grounded in front of her. Each vertibird had a crowd of people around it, all pushing and swarming to get aboard, those on the ground screaming to be let on while those aboard screaming for the pilots to go. Noise, more noise than had been in the corridors, noise that seemed to echo off the high ceiling and bounce back, doubling what was on the ground. Her head began to throb rhythmically, as if to the sound of a beating drum.

She saw Steven, still pulling her along, trying to look over the crowds. He pulled her sideways, trying to find a gap to any of the vehicles, but there was none. The mass of people surrounded every vertibird, swarmed over every inch of ground. It was getting hard enough just to move, let alone trying to get somewhere. More people kept coming into the hangar too, all pushing and shoving and inciting more from those that were already here.

Someone fell over, or was knocked over, and she watched with morbid fascination as the man was trampled to his death. These people, _her_ people, were the last bastion of civilisation left in the wastes. And yet here they were, grunting and groaning like any other wastelander. _Like any other animal_, she thought.

Steven continued pulling her along until they passed the masses by completely, moving along the large wall on the right. There she got an even better view of the situation; every vertibird in the hangar, it seemed, had people surrounding it. Several took off and one desperate person, clinging to the landing gear, plummeted back to the ground as they retracted. His weight was enough to throw the vehicle off balance however and, as it went through the open hangar doors, one of its engines clipped the ceiling. It bellowed black smoke and the vertibird dipped, eventually disappearing beneath the floor of the hangar, down into the valley beneath the mountain base. A few moments later an explosion could be heard, faintly, barely making it above all the other noise.

Steven was cursing under his breath, his grip tightening on her arm to the point where it hurt. She was going to say something, scream for help maybe, but as he eyes flicked back to him she saw the pistol still in his other hand, swaying around with each step he took, like it was dancing for her.

He stopped so suddenly she ran into him, making the pair stumble a few steps further. She looked up to see what was wrong, saw him staring at the closest corner of the hangar, just to the right of the entrance. It was steeped in shadow, the lights having gone out a while ago, but she could just make out a glint of a reflection, light that poured through the entrance bouncing off dark metal.

A vertibird. It had to be. Even better, there were no crowds around it. Nobody could see it but them.

Steven quickly started walking again, pulling her along with him. She was surprised she wasn't putting up much of a fight but, as those thoughts would cross her mind, her eyes would always find that gun in his hand, dancing and swaying, daring her to do something.

He was running now, practically dragging her along. She looked around for a moment, wondering whether people would see them and caught a glimpse of a blonde helping a hobbling man, seemingly going in the same direction as Steven and her.

His grip continued pulling her forward, however, and she couldn't see anything clearly. The ground, the walls, all rushed past with increasing speed. The entrance loomed ahead of them, slightly to their side, growing ever larger by the second. It opened out to blue mountains, to fog that drifted down from them and settled in the valley like clouds. It was a beautiful, peaceful scene, contrasting all the more brightly the chaos still erupting in the hangar.

Suddenly the ground went dark as they entered the shadow and a moment later they stood before the vertibird. Farilla was hauled forward, practically thrown through the door. Looking up she saw a slight man curled up in a seat in the back corner, arms around his knees, knees at his chest, rocking backwards and forwards.

"They coming," he was muttering, repeating it over and over, almost in time to his rocking. He didn't look like someone from the Enclave. She felt her heart jump into her throat. Something was very wrong.

* * *

Steven had meant to merely help her into the vertibird, not shove her as violently as he did. Nor did he mean to grab her so hard that he'd left a bruise that he could now see forming on her arm. But the chaos, the panic, it made people do strange things.

Like killing the General.

He hadn't planned to do it. If he was being honest, he hadn't had a plan at all. Get Farilla, that's all he had been thinking.

He wondered idly what Paul would say about this, before he remembered the man was dead. They, along with several other soldiers, had been ordered to guard one of the civilian entrances to the military arm of the base. People came, their numbers uncountable, all demanding to be let through, to be escorted from the base like they were VIPs, each and every one of them. Their demands turned to pleas, which turned to begs and finally to anger. But all through it, the soldiers had remained stoic. Steven knew that the might of the Enclave would prevail and, as a soldier, it was his responsibility to see it through.

Then it happened. A civilian, likely a merchant judging from his clothes, produced a gun. It was a Pre-War weapon, a heap of rusted junk someone probably sold him for a cap or two, more to get rid of it than anything else. But it still fired and, by random chance or fate itself, the bullet that wouldn't have even dented the soldiers' power armour found its way into one of Paul's eye-holes. His helmet exploded in blood and that was that; Steven's closest friend was dead.

That's when the chaos really started. Soldiers began firing, civilians died but still managed to surge forward in a frenzied mass, overwhelming their attackers. Steven had gotten away, like some of the others, but he knew now what the stakes were. There was no more Enclave, no more restoring the old world, no more unity. It was every man for himself, so he went and got the only thing that mattered to him; Farilla.

Reaching forward with his free hand he gripped the door frame and pulled himself aboard. Just as he'd hoped the vertibird was empty, except for Farilla...and a slight man in the back, arms around his knees, rocking backwards and forwards. Steven frowned. He didn't look Enclave.

Something jabbed Steven in the back. He heard Farilla scream, loud and shrill, but he didn't know why. It didn't feel like anything more than a jab, like someone had poked him with a finger or two. He tried to see who the jokester was but found the vertibird lurched around him. That had to mean they were taking off, but Farilla wasn't properly strapped in.

He took a step forward, intending to help her. His legs collapsed out from under him and he watched, with a detached curiosity, as the ground leapt up to meet him. He felt another jab, tried to tell whoever it was that they should stop playing around during takeoff, but instead of words something warm and salty trickled out of his mouth.

The ground wasn't as hard as he would have thought. The metal felt like a bed, but not just any bed; the bed he had as a child, the one his mother would tuck him in to every night. His head felt like it was on the softest pillow and, he found, he was struggling to keep his eyes open. He was so very tired from the running, and the killing, and everything really. A short nap would help him, he thought brightly.

Or, tried to think. He found he could no longer hold on to thoughts. The words formed and drifted away before the next one could come, leaving sentences disjointed and broken. The darkness closed further around his vision and he thought only one word now; _sleep_.

He took one final look up at Farilla, staring down at him with complete terror. He just smiled at her. What was she afraid of? A little nap and he would be back on his feet, back to take her far away from there, to start a new life and a family together. They would be happy, she would see. She would see...

* * *

Sam was breathing hard as he finally let himself slow down. He had made it out of the base, back into the hangars and over to their vertibird somehow without being seen. He counted himself extremely lucky on all counts.

He gripped the edge of the door with one gloved hand, pulled himself through and almost fell right over a body lying in the middle of the cabin. It was dressed in green fatigues, like the man with the clipboard had been, and was spread eagled on the floor, its back sickly red with blood. It was a man, Sam could tell by the shape, and the knife that killed him was still sticking out his back, the rough handle instantly familiar. He leaned forward slightly to get a better look when someone grabbed him from behind.

He swung his elbow back on an instinct, feeling it hit flesh and causing a grunt from whoever was behind him. He turned and, leading with his forearm, slammed the man into the wall of the vertibird.

He saw it was Isaac, his eyes narrowed, his arms clawing at the armour.

"It's me," said Sam, letting Isaac down. The tanned man looked up at him suspiciously and, with an annoyed sigh, Sam took his helmet off, a slight hiss sounding as the suit was de-pressurized.

"Oh," Isaac said, "how'd it go?" he asked casually, as if there wasn't a body lying in front of them.

"Not good...what the hell is this?" Sam asked, staring back down at the body.

"We had...company," Isaac said, almost happily, and when Sam turned to look at him he saw the man was looking down at the corpse with something approaching pride.

"So you killed them?" he asked.

Isaac snorted. "Come on, you know how it is. It had to be done."

Sam frowned. _It had to be done_. Just like he had to kill innocents to get here. Just like he had been telling himself since...well, since the bullet in his head had turned his life upside down. It had always made sense to him. He had never liked it but he'd always justified it as being life in the wastes. You've got to do what has to be done.

But as he saw the psychopath in front of him saying the exact same words, he began to wonder. Is it right? Maybe doing what you thought had to be done, without worrying about the consequences, is what lead him to this situation right now. Maybe it was even what caused the war that almost destroyed the planet 200 years ago. Maybe there was more to just _knowing_ what was right or wrong; maybe you had to actually do what was right, even if it wasn't easy. Maybe.

Suddenly it didn't seem to make as much sense.

"...besides, I left the girl alive" Isaac added, waving his hand at the far corner.

Sam snapped out of his thoughts and looked over. He hadn't seen her at first, being pre-occupied with the body. She had dark hair, olive skin, a perfect figure cut into a high class Pre-War dress. She was staring at the body, hands covering her mouth, eyes open as wide as they could go. She was rocking slightly, although not as bad as Original who was curled up opposite her.

He was staring at a space at the wall, muttering something, then his head snapped around and he was staring straight at Sam.

"Donation for the disposition," he said, clearly, his voice flat, the insecurity seemingly gone. Sam felt a slight shiver travel up his spine as he stared into the man's eyes.

There was movement behind him and Sam turned, seeing Charity helping Oz into the vertibird. The man's face was etched with pain, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, his knuckles white, his head lolling and moving all on its own. Isaac, who had taken position beside the door like he had when Sam had entered, kneeled down to help the man in. Charity lifted herself in as well but froze when she saw the woman in the back.

Sam felt his heart skip a beat as she turned to look at him. "What's she doing here?" she asked coldly.

"Who is she?" Sam countered.

"A queen," Charity spat, her voice even colder than before, "she deserves to die"

"Now you're talking," added Isaac, who took a step forward and retrieved his knife from the dead man's back.

"Nobody is killing anybody," Sam said sternly, "there's been enough death today."

"She's a monster," Charity hissed.

"We all are," Sam answered softly. He cleared his throat and spoke louder, "Get the pilot to take off, we don't have much time."

Charity glared at him for a moment, her fists clenched, every muscle tensed. He thought, _knew_, she was going to hit him, but he did nothing. He didn't reach for his pistol or prepare to dodge, he just stood there. Maybe it was the way his heart didn't work as it should when she was around, maybe he really was just tired of all the killing and fighting. She seemed to be waiting for him to do something but he wouldn't. He just kept staring at her, unable to hide the weariness that suddenly swept over his body. She huffed angrily, but her muscles relaxed and she pushed herself past him to the cockpit.

"Throw this thing out," he added to Isaac, nudging the body with his foot before moving over to a seat and slumping down. The tanned man said nothing, sticking his knife back in its sheath and rolling the body unceremoniously over to the open door, sending it out with one final kick. It landed with a thump on the metal floor just as the vertibird lifted off, Sam feeling the seat lurch underneath him.

"Thank you," the woman whispered, looking him in the eyes, desperation and hope crammed into her eyes in equal measure.

"Shut up"

She slunk back to her seat, sobbing silently, staring at the bloodstain on the floor now. Isaac eased into a chair near the door, watching Sam out of the corner of his eye, a slight smirk on his face. Charity was seated in the cockpit, Sam could see her blonde hair rising over the back of one of the seats. Original was back to rocking and mumbling.

"Where's Patrick?" Isaac asked, that smirk still on his face.

"He's not coming" Sam answered flatly.

"Going out swinging, is he?" the tracker asked.

Sam didn't answer.

Isaac leant back, the smirk turning into a smile. "Good for him," Sam heard him say softly.

Sam eyes drifted lazily over to the woman. _Get out of this life, while you can. Don't die like me..._

The words continued to echo in his mind. He had saved her life, he knew it. He didn't fully understand why but for the first time in a long time he felt like he had done something right, that wasn't the easy option. Maybe it wasn't enough to push him out of this type of life but, as he watched her crying, he thought it was at least a start. He hoped it was, anyway.

* * *

"How much longer until it goes?" Sam asked Charity, leaning on the cockpit's door frame, referring to the generators and the base. The vertibird had been airborne for a couple of minutes now and Sam was eager to get as far away from the coming explosion as possible.

"Not long," she answered over the engines. He nodded and went back into the cabin.

"Strap in," he shouted to the others, "it's going to get rough!"

Isaac was grinning from ear to ear as he looped the harness attached to the seat around his shoulder, clicking it together in the middle. Oz tried to move one of his arms, winced, and Sam moved across to help him. He then continued down the row of seats to Original, who was still rocking, and half helped, half forced the slight man into his harness. Finally he came to the woman who looked up at him dumbly.

"The harness," he said, pointing to the straps on the seat beside her, "put it on"

"Why?" she asked. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted as a great thundering sound could be heard in the distance. The cabin began to vibrate, then shake, getting worse and worse until something knocked the vertibird forward, pointing them down at the ground and sending Sam and the woman catapulting towards the cockpit. The pilot, his goggles around his eyes now, was wrestling with the controls, his arms strained as he tried to pull the steering wheel up.

Warning lights went on, a dull alarm sound, like the one in the base, started. The woman was screaming, her hands scrambling out, reaching for anything and everything. Sam, one hand on each side of the door frame, did his best to keep the pair of them from falling into the cockpit, but he could feel his muscles straining with the effort. The power armour was built to enhance directed strength, like if you needed to move a wrecked car with your hands or hit someone in the face, but in his situation it did nothing but add 30 pounds of weight to his frame. Combined with the woman's weight on top of him, and the fact that she couldn't stay still, it was becoming harder and harder to keep hold.

But just as he felt his fingers slipping the vertibird slowly began to tilt upwards, eventually levelling out, Sam letting himself slide to the floor. He heard the pilot sigh nervously behind him, not exactly a good sign, but they were alive and that was good enough. The woman had stopped screaming too, replaced with harsh, shallow breathing. Isaac was still grinning ear to ear.

"We're clear," Charity stated, getting up from her seat and joining them in the cabin, stepping over Sam as she did. Sam got to his feet with a grunt, his arms aching.

"Open the side hatch," he ordered the pilot.

"But that could de-pressurize-"

"Just do it," Isaac snarled, on his feet now. The pilot grumbled to himself and the vertibird dipped a little, going lower, until finally the door began to open with a hiss. That hiss turned into a roar as the wind blew in, pushed back by both the propellers and the vehicle's speed.

Isaac stepped across to the open door and leant out, one hand gripping the frame. He stretched out as far as possible, to the point where one slip would mean his death, but he still had that grin on his face. It seemed he was eager to see the explosion. So was Sam.

He leant out as well, not as far as the trapper but far enough to see. The base had been built into a mountain which was simply...gone, replaced by a gaping crater probably miles in distance. Parts of the mountain still rose up around it, like legs on an upside down table, but as the pair watched they too fell, collapsing into the crater and sending up great plumes of dust and debris.

Sam turned back inside and came face to face with Charity. Her face had a strange look to it, still steely, still cold, but a hint of softness had crept into her eyes.

"I'm sorry," he said, not knowing why he felt the urge to say it. She continued to stare at him, the softness growing a little.

"I'm not," she answered. She turned her back on him and strode to the back of the cabin, slumping into a chair and taking on a faraway look. Sam sighed.

"Uh..." the pilot started, "we took some damage, we're not going to be airborne for much longer...should I put her down?" he asked, unsure, nervous. Sam caught the man glancing across at Isaac, who was still leaning out the hatch. Sam knew he would have been afraid of the tanned man too, if their situations were reversed.

But they weren't.

"No, get us as close to Idaho as you can. We've got some business to finish..." Sam said, turning to look at Oz, who gave him a subtle nod, still wincing in pain.

The vertibird banked smoothly, levelling out and the engines powering up. Isaac ducked back inside as the hatch closed and everyone took a seat, deciding to get some rest. It had been, after all, one hell of a day.


	15. All in All

Charity leant back, shuffling her back slightly into comfort on the cold, metal seats in the vertibird cabin. Out of the corner of her eye she looked around at the rest of the sad characters inhabiting the same space; the scrawny, whimpering psychic, the tanned psychopath, the bitch Farilla, the Regenerating Man...and the Courier, Sam.

She had heard stories about him, just like everyone had. The Enclave wasn't...hadn't, she corrected herself, been lax in gathering as much information about the outside world as possible. The leaders at the Stand hadn't wanted another RIG situation.

_So much for that_, she snorted mentally.

She found her eyes lingering on Sam, something that she noticed happening with more and more regularity ever since she'd been captured. His rugged face, his uncertain but determined look, everything about him just seemed to interest her. It was beginning to get almost uncontrollable...

She tore her eyes from him with an angry snort. Only she was in control of her body.

She leant her head back, letting it rest gently against the metal walls, and closed her eyes, feeling the coldness seep into her head and bring her a moment of peace. She let her body relax, let her muscles stretch out comfortably. Her mind began to wander all on its own and she decided not to stop it.

She was in a small room. Her room, she remembered, from when she was a child. A few toys were scattered around, the large bed dominating the rest of the space. There was a knock on the large wooden door, which creaked open ominously. Her father came in with another man, a scruffy, ugly man. Her mother was behind them, in the hall, a worried look on her face. Her father was counting with his hands and the man handed him a bag that jiggled as it moved. Then her parents were gone and it was just that man left, a hungry grin on his face, looming over her. His hands reached out, stroking her face, stroking her shoulder, moving down, over her chest, then across her hips...

She jerked uncontrollably but it wasn't enough to shake her from the dream state. Now she was in that clearing, tied up, helpless. The men in dark leather were laughing as one of their own leant over her, unbuckling his belt, pushing his hands into places they weren't allowed to go. At the time she had flashed back to when she was a child, the ugly man leering over her, touching her in the same places. She was as helpless as she'd ever been and nothing horrified her more. She heard her breathing become ragged, her eyes as wide open as they could get, not wanting to watch but unable to look away either.

And then the man's head had exploded and the Courier had saved them all.

She opened her eyes, looked over at him. He had his arms folded now, head on his shoulder. He looked like he was asleep. It seemed strange to her, considering the company he was in, but then everything he did seemed strange to her.

The way she caught him looking at her, the way he had given her so much trust. More than he should have, more than _she_ would have, if everything had been reversed. Her fingers gently stroked the plasma pistol strapped to her thigh. He had even let her keep the pistol. Her, a prisoner not even a few days ago, now armed and in a perfect position to kill him. It didn't make any sense to her. And that annoyed her.

Ever since that day as a child she had wanted to understand everyone and everything and, so far, she had been successful. She stayed quiet, listened, paid attention to things others didn't and felt like she knew how the world and the people in it worked. The world was harsh, unforgiving, and the people even more so. They were your friends only as long as you were useful.

Yet she was still alive, still armed, and Sam seemed unconcerned by either. She knew she had outlived her usefulness and was nothing more than a liability now. His lack of action made no sense to her, unless he still had a use for her.

She froze. What use do all men have for women?

But as she turned to look at him, she found herself dismissing the idea. It just...didn't fit, that was the only way she could describe it, and all it did was make her more confused than ever.

But the strangest thing, above all, had been his utter belief in her story about the one they called Abigail. Charity had told the truth but, still, she hadn't expected her word to be believed as readily as it was. She had expected to be thrown out the vertibird the moment she opened her mouth to tell them, actually.

In fact, if she was honest she didn't believe the events that had happened herself, despite seeing them with her own eyes...

* * *

_Charity stretched awkwardly, her arms restrained behind her back, her body resting against a large stone. A few metres in front of her the small group of captors had built their camp site; the Regenerating Man among them. She had been trying to find a rock, anything, to cut through her restraints for the last few hours but, sadly, she found nothing._

_Laughter echoed out from one of the men, the obvious leader. There was something interesting about him, though Charity chose to ignore it. He tossed a small flask to another man, the larger one with the power armour, who took a mouthful of whatever was inside. Judging by their good moods, Charity guessed it was liquor. _

_This continued for a long while, each of them taking mouthfuls of the liquid in the flask, until finally they all laid down and went to sleep. If Charity had been focused she might have thought it strange that they all laid down at the exact same time, but she wasn't, so she didn't. She was too busy struggling to get herself free of the surprisingly well-tied bonds that wrapped around her wrists._

_She stopped her efforts when she heard movement from the camp, looking on with mild curiosity as the brunette haired woman got up and stretched, casting a mildly curious look of her own over her sleeping companions._

_Charity feigned sleep as the woman walked away from the camp and, when Charity was sure she was gone, she resumed work on freeing herself._

_That was, until she heard the footsteps._

_Heavy, booted, moving with careful precision. Trained footsteps, wearing heavy armour. Enclave soldiers._

_She let herself hope for a moment that it would be Abercrombie, had thought for sure that it would have been, but it was nothing more than the ordinary rank and file that poured into the clearing, moving over to the campsite._

_"That's right...the big one too, he's going to be my gift," ordered a female voice brightly._

_The woman re-appeared, one hand on her hip, her other sweeping around the campsite in an attempt to direct the soldiers. They moved carefully, two of them picking up the Regenerating Man and dragging him away before another two grabbed the larger man in power armour and dragged him away, albeit with a lot more grunting and groaning then the first pair. Strangely, despite it all, neither of the men woke. They barely looked like they noticed, none of them did._

_Then it hit Charity. They had all been drugged._

_"Isn't this one of ours?" someone called, snapping her out of her thoughts. She looked up to see one of the soldiers standing over her, looking back at the woman._

_"Ah, yes" she sighed, striding over and kneeling down in front of Charity, "unfortunately you're being left behind..."_

_Charity turned her eyes to the soldier, waiting patiently for the back-handed slap to the insolent woman that stood before her, showing such little respect to a member of the Enclave...but it never came. The soldier simply shrugged and joined his fellows in checking the others. Charity frowned at his back, which made the woman cock her head to the side, a curious look in her eyes._

_"Wondering why he didn't help you?" she asked. Charity's eyes flicked back to look at her, seeing now that she was smiling slightly. "Yeah...see, they don't like you, back at the Stand. Not anymore. You're the past and, well...I'm the future," she added with a smug smile._

_"Ma'am?" a soldier said behind her._

_"Hmm?" she turned to face him, then nodded as he motioned away from the camp site, "Oh, yes. Well, it's time for me to go," she said sadly, turning back to Charity, "but I hope you'll be alright, I really do...ok, I don't, but I know you will be. You've caught the eye of little Sammy over there," she said, turning to look at the leader of her captors, still asleep by the fire, the light illuminating his rugged features. She sighed. "He is some kind of cute, isn't he..."_

_She turned back to Charity, the smile back on her face. "But I'm sure an up-tight bitch like you doesn't even know what I'm talking about. A shame...you could use a good romp. But listen to me talk!" she exclaimed, "I really have to go. Bye-bye then."_

_She got up, waved childishly and followed the soldiers out of the camp site, leaving her former companions still asleep by the fire. The ones she didn't take, anyway._

_Charity huffed angrily. She had known the rest of the Enclave had a...less than positive view regarding the Irregulars, but to leave one of their own behind? On the orders of nothing more than a common bounty hunter? It would have baffled a lesser person, but not Charity._

_She prided herself on knowing the world but, more, adapting to it. She saw the truth now, the hidden one that she had always felt but never accepted. There was no Enclave, no unity, no great hope for the future. Everything she had been told, had been conditioned to believe, was a lie. The only thing separating the Enclave from her captors and other wastelanders was their level of technology. They were no different, no less self-centred and petty. _

_She ground her teeth as her eyes looked over her captors again, focusing on the leader. She noticed how interesting he looked but, this time, she didn't ignore it._

_She had known that she owed him for saving her before. But she had decided that meant not killing him when she escaped. Now? Now she had bigger things in mind. A better way to pay him back, and several others, she knew._

_But more than that, she felt a curious feeling when she thought about leaving them, _him_. She felt...longing, something she hadn't felt in far too long, a feeling that left her confused._

_She knew she needed him to repay her debt, and to get revenge on the Enclave, but the more she thought about it, the more those reasons didn't seem to matter. She just needed him..._

* * *

A voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

"We're not going to last much longer," she heard Eagle shout over his shoulder.

Sam got up and stood behind him, leaning over the back of his chair to look out the cockpit's windows.

"Put us down...there," he said, pointing with his finger to a spot Charity couldn't see. She did see Eagle nod his head though, the vertibird dipping slightly as Sam moved back into the cabin to re-join the others.

"Are we there yet?" Isaac asked with a smirk.

"Almost," Sam answered dismissively, not looking at the tanned man. She saw him look across at the back corner, where Farilla was still curled up, alone, sobbing silently. She had been the same ever since they left the Stand. Charity didn't understand why the woman was crying. If the blonde had had her way Farilla would have joined the corpse they threw back into the hangar.

Charity looked back at Sam, his face a mix of grim determination and concentration. He nodded and shook his head a few times as if going through ideas in his head, then slumped back into a chair, still glancing occasionally at Farilla, his face deepening into a frown as his concentration increased.

* * *

The vertibird touched down lightly in a small clearing, its landing gear creaking as it took the weight of the metal vehicle. The door to the cabin opened with a slight hiss and Sam was the first out, sweeping the area with his rifle. After a moment he motioned back inside and the others began making their way out, Oz still visibly in pain and needing help getting down.

The clearing wasn't much; a sparse patch of flat land with a few withered trees dotted around. The perfect area to land a vertibird, though it left them more exposed than Sam would have liked. Still, you can't always have everything.

Eventually everyone was out, standing in a rough semi-circle around the vertibird. Sam strode towards them, nodding for Isaac to watch the area, and took the Enclave woman by the arm, pulling his pack out of the cabin as they passed the door.

When they were a good distance away he stopped, let his bag drop to the floor and reached into his duster. She visibly flinched and he frowned at her as he produced a small pouch that jingled in his fingers. He then reached into his pack and pulled out a pistol, causing her to flinch again.

But he didn't use it on her, instead rolling it around until the handle was facing her. She took it hesitantly, her face covered in confusion.

"There's caps and a weapon," he said, "now go"

"But...I can't..." she blubbered.

"Listen!" he hissed, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her a little further away from the others. "The blonde wants you dead, the tanned one will kill you for the fun of it and the man in pain will probably be looking for revenge when he's back to normal. I'm giving you the chance to live, can't you see that?"

She stared at the pistol dumbly. "But I've never...I'll die," she finished weakly, eyes floating over to take in the surroundings, the wastes, the world she had never seen.

Sam sighed. "Probably," he muttered, "but at least you've got a chance, out there," he said, waving his hand to take in the landscape. "You're dead if you stay here..."

She gulped, sniffled, seemed to be fighting back tears. Sam didn't know her, didn't know what she might have done to make Charity hate her. And even though he hated the Enclave after his short time in the Stand, he couldn't bring himself to hate this woman. She was so pitiful he wished he could do more. Wished, but knew he couldn't.

He turned and walked back over to the group.

"What are you doing?" Charity asked coldly, her eyes fixed on the back of the woman still walking away.

"The right thing," he answered.

He saw her hand stray towards the plasma pistol at her hip and cursed himself for forgetting to take it off her. He put a hand gently on hers as it reached the grip. She looked down at it, as if surprised to be touched, then up at his face with her usual flatness and a hint of suspicion.

"Let it go," he whispered, keeping his eyes locked to hers. She glared at him and huffed angrily, but she still turned and strode back towards the others. He breathed out contently. At least he managed to do one good thing today. Now, what to do about the pilot...

He turned and strode back to the others. The pilot, Eagle, was standing in the middle, shrinking somewhat between the others. He wasn't much, slightly framed without much bulk to him. His face had a certain boyish look to it, like he was too young to be doing this kind of thing. Still, he had proven himself a hell of a pilot.

"You," Sam said, nodding towards him. The man's eyes flicked nervously towards him. "You're free to do what you like. Stay, go, your choice"

His eyes flicked side to side, taking in his current companions. Oz was still visibly in pain, held up loosely by Charity, who had her usual disinterested face on. Isaac was a little further off, rifle in hand, but Sam saw him turn and give the pilot a wink and a wicked grin. Original was muttering to himself, both hands in front of his mouth. Finally, his eyes rested on Sam, who did his best not to show any kind of emotion.

"I'll...stay," Eagle finally said, glancing only slightly at the figure of the Enclave woman, still walking away and barely visible now.

Sam clapped him on the shoulder, causing the smaller man to visibly shrink again. "Good man," Sam said, somewhat happily. "Now...let's get moving. We still have a Vault to get to."

* * *

"So...Eagle..." Sam started casually as the small group headed north west, having crossed the border into Idaho roughly an hour ago. "You think that vertibird will fly again?"

"Uh...I guess," the smaller man stammered. "I mean, it needs fuel...and the shockwave blew out the ignition lines...not to mention the heat sink and distributor..."

"But if we got all that?"

"Y-yeah, I suppose it would..."

"Good," Sam said with a nod, raising his Pip-Boy to his chest and tapping a few buttons on it. Eagle stood a little higher, trying to see what he was doing. Sam caught him doing it. "Marking its location," he explained, showing the pilot the map. "I'll come back for it later"

Eagle smiled nervously and nodded, deciding to go back to being silent, hoping it was enough to end the conversation. In this group of killers and thieves, as he thought of them, blending into the background seemed to be the smartest thing to do.

Sam left him be and quickened his pace a little. Oz was walking next to Charity, the pain having gone enough for him to walk on his own, but the blonde woman still hovered nearby, watching him in case he showed signs of collapsing. To his credit, the man seemed to use it as motivation, forcing himself onwards when it was clearly visible that he was suffering from another wave of pain. Whether it was pride or the fear Charity seemed to inspire that drove him, however, Sam didn't know.

Isaac was at the front, as usual, the snarling wolf stitched into the back of his leather vest seeming to look directly at you whenever you glanced at it, the leather creaking every time he moved, sounding like small growls.

Original was keeping pace, barely, though he was still plainly crazy, still muttering to himself, so softly that you could hear that he was talking but not the actual words he was saying, no matter how hard you tried.

And there was Charity. She and Sam hadn't spoken since he had let the Enclave woman go, but he had caught her glancing at him occasionally. He thought she had caught him staring at her a couple of times too. It was strange, he just couldn't keep his eyes off her...

Isaac's hand went up, motioning for them to stop, and everyone did immediately, crouching down. All except Original. Sam had to lean across and pull the man down by his arm. He went down with a awkward squawk, which got an angry glance from Isaac.

"P-people," Original said. Sam turned to him, both confused and curious.

"What did you say?"

Original looked up at him, just like he had on the vertibird, and Sam felt the familiar tingle go up his spine.

"P-people...bad," he muttered.

Sam's eyes narrowed as he studied the man. "People...?"

"Don't move!" someone screamed. Another voice repeated the same thing, although this time it sounded almost robotic.

"Shit," Sam heard Isaac hiss, and everyone ducked behind any available cover. Rocks, dips in the ground, Sam even saw Eagle crouched behind a desert shrub.

"Put down your weapons!" the first voice repeated. "We have you completely surrounded!"

Sam looked around, saw Isaac was staring at him. The tracker was motioning with his hand, trying to indicate a plan of attack. Sam was nodding as he got the gist of it, when Charity suddenly stood up.

"What are you doing?" he hissed. She waved her hand at him dismissively.

Sam's eyes flicked towards the surrounding area, waiting for the bullets to come.

But they didn't.

Instead, something rustled some plants behind a boulder roughly 15 metres from the trail. Sam, before he even knew what he was doing, found himself on his feet and standing in between it and Charity. 'It' turned out to be a man, who stood up from behind the boulder. He was dressed in black combat armour with a leather duster over the top of it, his face rugged and old, a face that Sam could tell had seen plenty of fighting. His jet black hair was tied in a pony tail and he held a plasma rifle in both hands, although it was lowered.

"Charity," the man said, his voice hard, a little emotion creeping in that even Sam, hearing him for the first time, thought was unusual. "I..._we_ thought you were dead"

"I'm not," she answered flatly, as if it wasn't obvious.

"I can see that...who's he?" he asked, nodding towards Sam.

"Sammael Grant," Sam answered.

The man narrowed his eyes, looking annoyed that Sam had decided to speak. After a moment of glaring he turned back to Charity, looking at the way they were standing, at how she had moved slightly closer to Sam. "You're...with him?"

Sam turned to look at Charity and found himself staring into her piercing blue eyes. They looked into his, those eyes, seemingly seeing right through him, into his brain, into his soul. Looking through him like that was what they were made to do.

"I am," he heard her finally say, not taking her eyes from him. He noticed a softness creep into those blue eyes, the skin around them creasing slightly.

The man with the pony tail sighed explosively and, when Sam finally tore his eyes from Charity's, he saw the man rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"We should have a talk then," the man finally said, resignation in his voice.

* * *

Sam sat opposite the pony tail man, Charity by his side, the rest of his group scattered around behind him. The other group, all dressed in the same stripped down power armour as Charity had been, were roughly the same, loosely grouped around their leader with weapons drawn but lowered. All and all it was an awkward situation.

"The smoke we've seen on the horizon, is that-" the pony tail man started.

"The Stand," Charity interrupted. He nodded knowingly.

"So it's gone?"

"Yes," she answered, flatly as usual.

He looked at her with slight curiosity. "You sound like you don't care"

"I don't."

He nodded again, although this time there was a hint of sadness in his eyes. He turned to Sam. "And you...you're the Courier?"

"Yeah"

"I was sent to hunt you," he said casually, "and him," he added, nodding towards Oz.

"Well, here we are," Sam answered, spreading out his arms.

"There's no point now, is there?" the man asked, somewhat sourly.

"I guess not"

The man sighed again. "Where are you headed?"

"To a Vault. Why?"

"...because we need somewhere to go," the man answered. "And since you've already got one of us with you," he said, looking at Charity, "...where else would the rest of us be?"

Sam narrowed his eyes. "How do I know you're not going to betray us?"

"_You_ don't," the man answered, "but she does"

Sam glanced at Charity who gave him a subtle nod, a subtle 'ok' signal, one his mind told him not to trust but his heart believed without a doubt.

"Fine," he sighed after a moment. "Sam," he added, offering his hand.

The pony tail man took it with a firm grip. "Erik Abercrombie, Captain," he answered. "And these," he waved his hand at the men behind him, "are the 2nd Irregulars. Now...you said something about a Vault?"


	16. Again?

Sam waved at Isaac as he approached, the tanned man stepping lively as he made his way back to the group.

The group had practically doubled in size with the addition of the former Enclave soldiers. Sam gave them a quick look as Isaac got closer, trying to put names to faces.

The pony tailed man, Abercrombie, was obviously the leader. A man with peculiarly white eyes, Leon, was clearly his second. His brief introduction hadn't given him a good idea of what the others did, but there were obviously a few riflemen, starting with the older dark skinned man, Mike, and including another with a strange, framing helmet, Beaumont, another with an even stranger breathing device covering his mouth, Julio, that gave him a metallic voice Sam remembered from the stand off earlier and, the last, was a young looking man, cocky, arrogant, named Hart. There was also a smaller man who wore combat armour, unlike his power armoured companions, and carried around a sniper rifle, Hannibal. Finally, there was a tanned man with long braids running from his scalp down each side of his body, Hollow, but he had disappeared behind the others long ago, likely keeping an eye on their back trail.

Even worse, their new found desire to work together didn't seem to move past any of the tension being former enemies had created. Furtive glances passed between the two previously separate groups every other minute it felt, and Oz in particular seemed to get most of them. That was, at least, somewhat understandable, all things considered. The death glares Julio gave them, and Sam in particular, were a whole other kind of worry though.

Strangely, it didn't seem to affect either of the two people that straddled both groups. Charity looked unconcerned, although Sam was starting to realise that she probably always looked like that, while Eagle was just as nervous around his own people as he was around Sam and his lot. The whole situation was just as awkward as when they had first sat down together but, as Isaac approached, Sam pushed it from his mind.

"See anything?" he asked the tracker.

Isaac shook his head. "It's clear for a while, but..."

"But?" Abercrombie asked, almost making Sam jump. He hadn't seen him approach.

Isaac cocked his head to the side and looked at the man with a mild smile tugging at his lips, before turning back to Sam. "You just have to see it," he answered with a shrug, giving Abercrombie a wink before turning around and disappearing back up the trail.

Sam turned, intending to tell the others, but Abercrombie's hand on his arm stopped him.

"If we're going to work together..." Abercrombie started coldly, his eyes staring at the trail Isaac had disappeared down, "you'll have to put a leash on your dog..."

Sam turned slowly, letting the other man's hand fall gently from his arm, a smile on his face. "Maybe if you could do the same," he said, equally as cold, his eyes flicking towards Julio. Abercrombie's followed his, sighing explosively when he saw Julio giving Sam another death glare. He turned back, a frown on his face, his eyes staring into Sam's, challenging. Clearly a man not used to taking orders, at least from people like Sam.

Abercrombie turned, intending to head over to Julio, but Sam's hand on his arm stopped him.

"And don't ever tell me what to do," Sam added coldly, his smile gone. "You might be with us now, but I'm still in charge. If you don't like it...we can go back to killing each other," Sam let his hand visibly fall to the hilt of his pistol, seeing Abercrombie's eyes glance at the action, "but that didn't go so well for you last time."

He took his hand from the man's arm and straightened, moving his hand away from his pistol as well. "Your choice," he finished, turning and striding back towards Charity.

He knew it was a risk, and a stupid one at that, to turn his back on someone like that, after the conversation they had just had. But it showed confidence, power, strength, all the things a leader has to have and all of the things others recognize. In this case, the risk was worth the reward.

To his relief, no bullets hit him in the back. When he reached Charity he glanced back, seeing Abercrombie waving his men over towards Sam while pulling Julio aside.

The two men started talking, Julio becoming more and more animated before stomping away angrily. Abercrombie tried to grab him but the other man roughly pushed him off, striding away from everyone else, huffing as he did. Abercrombie made to go after him but stopped short, thought better of it, then turned back and joined the others.

"Everyone," Sam said, loud enough for them all to hear, as Abercrombie merged into the group. "The road ahead is clear, for now. If we move quickly we'll be at the Vault in a day, maybe two. That's...all, really," he finished lamely. He looked at Charity, who raised her eyes as if expecting him to continue. He looked at the group, at the sceptical, occasionally clearly hostile former Enclave soldiers, and then at the mismatched group he had assembled himself. He sighed and cleared his throat loudly before continuing.

"I know...I know we don't see eye to eye, that there is a division in this group. But why is that? Beliefs held by our fathers, ingrained in us from birth? The actions of others, projected onto those who were associated with them? It is the past, inconsequential to the future. Behind us is ruins; both figuratively and literally. Ahead of us lies an enemy none of us have faced, an enemy none of us know. If we're to see this through, _we_ need to do it. Division, distrust, only leads to death..." he trailed off, highly surprised at the words that had just come out of his mouth. He glanced across at Charity who looked just as surprised, the rare emotion showing on her face adding to his shock.

Someone snorted their disbelief, their contempt, clearly from the former Enclave side.

"He's right," Abercrombie grunted, pushing his way to the front of the group. If Sam could have looked any more surprised, he would have. "We were Enclave," he continued, addressing his men, "but the Enclave is gone. Its people, its..._methods_, are dust. We are free men now, free to make our own decisions, follow our own orders. I can't order you to stay, so make your choice. I'm staying," he finished, giving Sam a slight nod before striding over to stand behind him.

"I'm with you," said Leon, immediately.

"Me too," answered Mike, somewhat reservedly.

"Why not?" Hannibal.

Beaumont nodded.

Hart scowled at Abercrombie, then at Sam, then shrugged.

Julio and Hollow were both missing, but Sam would take what he could get.

He was nodding. "Good, good," he said, almost to himself, "let's keep moving though, we're losing sunlight."

* * *

They all stood on the hill, mouth agape. All, except Isaac, who leant heavily on an improvised branch-walking stick with a knowing smile on his face.

Ahead of them sprawled a canyon, plains stretching out to the east, likely leading to Wyoming if Sam knew his American geography, and a mountain rising up on the western side, likely where the Vault was, if their construction sites were consistent. But that wasn't what interested them.

No, it was the blanket of flora and fauna, of forest, that covered the entire area that interested them.

"Told you, you had to see it," Isaac said, one hand sweeping out to take in the entire site.

Sam nodded dumbly, before turning to Oz to see the same stupefied look on his face that was on everyone else's.

"You weren't expecting this?" he asked.

Oz shook his head. "It wasn't here last time..." he muttered.

"And when was last time?" Abercrombie asked.

Oz shook his head harder, breaking himself out of the trance the forest seemed to have them all in, then let his eyes drift to the skies as he thought the question over.

"80..." he finally answered, "no, wait..._90_ years."

"_90_ years?" Sam groaned.

"I _did_ have other things to do," Oz muttered defensively.

Sam palmed his face with his hand and sighed. "Fine...let's get down there. No point in just staring at it..."

* * *

The forest rose above them like mountains, the trees easily 12 to 15 feet high, their shadows overlapping to create an overwhelming darkness between their trunks. A darkness that seemed to want you, to suck you in and not let go. Sam resisted the urge to shiver.

"Strange, aye?" Isaac asked casually. Sam nodded.

"I'm getting radiation readings," Leon, the white eyed man, said suddenly. Sam glanced across at him, then checked his Pip-Boy; sure enough, the forest seemed to be giving off low levels of radiation.

"It looks safe," Abercrombie said, "but we shouldn't take the risk."

"You're right," Sam said, shrugging off his pack and pulling out a small bottle of Rad-X.

The drug, developed before the War, was almost an essential part of living in the new, wasteland world. It was a small, unassuming white tablet that, when consumed, lessened the effects of radiation. It didn't lower current radiation, so a man dying of radiation sickness could take bottles of the stuff and feel no effect, but for un-radiated people heading into an irradiated forest, it was perfect.

He cracked the bottle open, took out a tablet, swallowed it and passed the bottle to Charity. She did the same and passed the bottle on to the next person; eventually everyone had taken it. Isaac hawked and spat.

"Tastes like shit," he complained. The taste was one of the worst side effects, Sam had to admit, tasting like the inside of an asshole at the best of times.

"Well, if I'd known you'd been coming I would have packed the cock flavoured ones," Sam said, with a small smile. Isaac frowned at him but couldn't hide the smile tugging at his lips. Several of the others chuckled; Hannibal, Oz, Leon, people from both 'sides'.

"You want to see something weird?" Isaac suddenly asked. Sam nodded, still smiling, deciding not to say anything about the man suspiciously changing the subject.

The pair strode towards the forest, Abercrombie joining them a second later. They got closer and closer, the blackness got larger and larger, until they were standing right in front of one of the trees. Sam leant forward slightly, peering into the depths, but couldn't see anything.

"So..." Isaac started, striding closer to the tree until he was standing close enough to touch it. "There's this..." he continued, and suddenly jabbed his improvised walking stick into the root of the nearest tree. Sam instantly thought he was insane, but jumped back as the root slithered away from the attack, retracting into the base of the trunk.

"What the fuck..." he muttered. As if to answer him, a loud roar echoed out from inside the forest, the sound bouncing against the cliffs in the distance and coming back again.

"... and there's that," Isaac finished casually, turning to look into the forest.

Sam continued staring at the blackness, thinking over the déjà vu he had with the moving vines, before it hit him; he had seen this before. In Vault 22.

This particular Vault sat a day or so journey west from New Vegas. Sam had gone there while working for the NCR, or more specifically their scientists. They wanted him to investigate the strange plants that grew unkempt from the Vault's open doors. Of course, they failed to mention that Sam wasn't the first person they had sent, nor that no one else had ever come out.

The Vault was a mess. Fungus and other plant growth covered most of the walls and floor, but it wasn't until Sam had gotten attacked by one of the vaguely human green monsters that he got truly worried. Still, he'd come to do a job, so he fought his way down, eventually learning through the Vault terminals that the research they had been doing mutated the original inhabitants into the creatures that had attacked him. He also met a ghoul named Keely, one of the others the NCR had sent before Sam, and together they destroyed the mutating spores once and for all.

Obviously here, in this forest, he doubted there were mutating spores. But he had seen moving plants in that Vault, and they hadn't been friendly.

"I've seen something like this," he muttered.

"As have I," Abercrombie grunted. Sam turned slightly to look at him. The man was frowning and looked concerned. "In Florida..." he continued, "an irradiated GECK created a moving forest..."

"GECK?" Isaac asked.

Abercrombie glanced up at him, still frowning. "The Garden of Eden Creation Kits. A terra former." Isaac still looked confused. "A device that promotes life, created before the War to rebuild the world."

"I saw it in a Vault, where they did Pre-War in advanced plant growth," Sam interrupted.

"How'd that go?" Isaac asked, leaning on his stick.

"They created spores that mutated everyone into zombie monsters"

"So...not well?" Isaac asked.

"We should be careful," grunted Abercrombie, turning to look at Sam, his face even more serious than usual. "There were creatures in the Floridian..._dangerous_ creatures."

Sam nodded, still looking at the forest. "Tell the others," he said, and Abercrombie turned to relay what they had found to everyone else.

"I don't trust him," Isaac said when the man was out of earshot.

Sam sighed. "Neither do I, but we're not getting through this without him"

"And what about after?" Isaac asked.

"What _about_ after?" Sam countered.

Isaac snorted. "You think this little partnership will last once we've found the Vault? They'll kill us and leave us in this forest, you know that."

"Maybe not," Sam muttered, half-heartedly.

"Ha! Why? Because you and the blonde are an item? Give me a break," Isaac said, "she's a traitor to them, you saw it. The only thing she'll get from them is a spot next to you in our mass grave."

"You know, you're free to leave whenever you want," Sam snapped.

"And miss out on half my pay?" Isaac asked incredulously, "No, I'll see this through."

"Then shut up and lead the way," Sam ordered, still annoyed. Isaac had that defiant half smile of his on his face, but still turned and headed into the forest as the others joined Sam.

* * *

If the forest had been imposing on the outside, it was even worse inside. The trees seemed higher, the darkness, despite their eyes having adjusted, seemed thicker and a fog swept across the forest's floor like a blanket. You couldn't even see your feet, it was so thick.

The group was spread out, a tightly clustered circle in the middle, Isaac 10 feet in front, Hollow 10 feet behind and 2 more of the Enclave men 10 feet out on either side. Everyone was on edge, tightly gripping weapons, eyes darting between every trunk, scared by every imaginary demon created by the shadows.

There were several more roars heard the deeper they got and, eventually, everyone had severe cases of paranoia.

"This is scary shit..." someone muttered. Sam had to agree, but Abercrombie turned and hissed for silence. Sam nodded approvingly, though no one saw it. The former captain did know how to run a group of people.

Just as long as he knew who was in charge.

There was a rustling of foliage on the left and everyone whirled around at once, guns frantically pointing at the source of the sound. As they looked, the leaves on the small shrub continued moving, dancing in an eerie wind none of them could feel.

A twig snapped on their right and they whirled around again but, again, there was nothing but a darkness that seemed to surround them, making an impenetrable wall between every trunk of the huge trees. There was an unsettling silence now; no birds chirping, everyone breathing as quietly as they could, trees creaking occasionally. Sam swore his heart was beating so loud the others had to be hearing it; judging by their faces, they were having similar thoughts.

There were more sounds coming from in front of the group, like someone running through the forest. Everyone turned slower this time, more prepared than the last two times and expecting nothing but paranoia to greet them again.

But it was Isaac that hurtled back into view, leaping over roots jutting from the ground.

"Get down!" he screamed, just as his legs seemed to go out from under him and he disappeared into the dense foliage and mist that coated the forest floor.

A missile shrieked between the trees, flying through the somewhat dumbstruck group, before detonating against a tree a few metres to Sam's left. His world rocked as the concussive forces hit him; the trees tilted, his stomach lurched and suddenly he found he was on his back, staring up into the unending ceiling of leaves that squatted above them. Charity came into view, a worried look on her face. Her mouth was moving but he couldn't hear anything but bells, ringing and ringing.

Eventually other noises got through. The staccato of gunfire, the strange _whoosh_ sounds of the plasma weapons and the grunts and shouts of men fighting for their lives.

"Are you all right?" she screamed.

He shook his head, trying to clear the noise away. "Yeah," he yelled back, waving her away as casually as he could. "I'm fine."

She disappeared and he was pulled to his feet, the ground lurching around him again. He looked across to see Abercrombie, one hand pulling him up, the other wildly firing his plasma rifle. He gave Sam one quick pat to check he was alright, then dashed behind some available cover. Sam stood there a moment longer, amidst the chaos, before a bullet whizzed past his head, his mind returned to full function and he hurriedly dived to the ground.

He got a glimpse of their attackers; barely clothed, heavily tanned, muscular men and women with strange paint covering their faces. They looked like savages and Sam would have assumed as much...if they weren't using automatic weaponry. Their attack wasn't random either; Sam could see clear lines of covering fire being laid down, these 'others' advancing in groups like trained military.

Sam shrugged his rifle off his shoulders, gripped it tightly and rose, whirring around to find a target.

But there was none. The attack had ended as fast as it had begun.

The forest was a mess; most, if not all, of the nearby tree trunks were missing large chunks of themselves, several branches were now jutting from the misted floor and leaves were still drifting, carefree, slowly down to the ground. The only thing that remained the same was the silence, even more eerie and unnerving considering what had happened.

"Is everyone alright?" Sam asked.

"Sound off!" Abercrombie roared, coughing roughly. His soldiers all answered, so they hadn't lost any of them.

Sam looked around. Charity was still next to him, Original a few metres back, Eagle huddled next to him. Isaac, groaning, rose to his feet, holding up a piece of wire with two rocks tied at the end.

"Bastards hit me with this," he grunted, before tossing it violently back between the trees.

Sam frowned. Someone was missing, but who?

"Oz?" he asked. "Has anyone seen Oz?"

Everyone looked around their immediate areas, but their shaking heads told him they had no success.

"Oz is gone?" he whispered. Isaac began laughing, cackling almost. Sam frowned at him. "What's so funny?"

"Again? He got kidnapped _again_?"

* * *

The first thing Oz saw was darkness. Not the darkness of the forest, as he first thought, but an all-encompassing darkness, like a room with no windows or doors or a cave down in the depths of the earth. His head was pounding, his stomach weak. He tried to remember how he had gotten here, wherever _here_ was, but found he couldn't. The last thing he remembered was seeing Isaac rush through the trees, then...blank.

"Hello Oswald," came a voice. Commanding, soothing, female voice.

Oz squinted, as if it might actually help him see in the dark. "Who are you? Where am I?"

"You're safe," came the voice again. "That is enough for now."

Oz swallowed nervously. "Who are you?" he asked, hoping to keep his fear from his voice.

He heard her giggle, the voice, and then a light appeared, seemingly far away. At first Oz thought it was the crack of an opening door, someone entering the room to speak to him face to face rather than over an obvious intercom. But the bright white quickly turned to a light blue, slowly getting closer, slowly become larger and larger, morphing into a ball shaped object. Sparks of electricity shot out as it grew, hitting the floor, ceiling, walls, whatever was closest and illuminating the room briefly in the process.

It was an unassuming room, from the brief glimpses Oz got. It had flat walls, a flat floor and ceiling; there were no tables or computers or instruments of any kind. Just...a room.

The ball of light continued to close on him and he found himself stepping back warily. At that the ball stopped, seemingly frozen, still hovering in mid air. It began to change, expand and collapse over and over, something new taking shape. It continued like this for a while, until it finally stopped.

Oz found himself looking at a face.

A bluely lit, female face, with two locks of dark hair framing her eyes and cheeks. She smiled slightly.

"My apologies," she said smoothly. "The projectors down here are a little...crude."

The face started to expand, a smooth oblong growing out the bottom, eventually taking the shape of a fit, attractive body, arms resting lightly in front of her body, legs seemingly on solid ground despite still hovering at least half a metre from the ground.

"What are you?" Oz managed.

"I would think that would be obvious for a man such as yourself," she answered, smiling.

"A survivor? From before the war?"

She laughed, genuinely. "No, no, I am no withered husk of a person locked away in an advanced tomb. I am, simply, what I am."

"A ZAX?"

"Come now," she said, feigning hurt, "must we sling insults? I am to them as you are to the common ape."

"The common what?" he asked, confused.

She sighed. "So close, yet so far," she mused to herself. "I am the parent, they are the children. Do you understand?"

Oz nodded, narrowed his eyes. "So what do you want with me?"

"All in good time," she answered with a smile. "For now, just let me tell you my name is Sera and I have been waiting for you for a very, _very_ long time..."


	17. The Vault

"What do you mean _no_?" Sam asked angrily.

Abercrombie rounded on him. "We've found the Vault. The simple fact is that we don't need him anymore, so I'm not risking my men on the slight chance that we could get him back."

"_Slight_ chance...what happened to _we have to work together_?" Sam asked.

"We are free men Courier, free to go and do what we please. We don't _have_ to do anything," Abercrombie answered.

Sam scowled at him. "To hell with you...all of you," he shouted at the rest of the former Enclave soldiers, before turning on his heel and striding away.

Charity, who had stood stoically beside him the entire time, remained, her eyes fixed on Abercrombie. The older man looked over at her.

"Go with him, if that's what you want," he said coldly. "You're not one of us anymore."

"I don't want to be," she answered flatly, turning to follow Sam.

When she was gone Abercrombie sighed.

"Is everything all right?" Leon asked, appearing behind him.

"No...tell everyone we're moving out. The Vault awaits. And maybe we can make something of this damned mission," he added sourly.

* * *

"How'd it go?" Isaac asked as Sam joined him. They were standing in a small clearing in amongst the forest, the place eerily calm when compared to their recent battle. Sam was scowling and gave Isaac a glance. "Ah," Isaac said knowingly.

He was leaning heavily on his improvised walking staff, his head turned towards Original as the man sat, cross legged, and ran his fingers over the small flowers that sprouted from the ground. The clearing had a certain sense of beauty to it; the trees that surrounded it were still daunting, but direct sunlight shined down on them for the first time since they had entered this mutated jungle. It reflected the vibrant colours of the flowers, giving the entire area a much happier feel than the jungle around them did.

Sam should have been marvelling at it. He had heard rumours of gardens as beautiful as this before; on the properties of the rich back in the NCR, in Pre-War facilities in Colorado, but he had never seen one in person. It was enough to give a person hope that, perhaps, the world wasn't as bleak as it looked, that there was potential for growth even in the wastes.

But he couldn't stop staring at his shoes. There was nothing special about them, the leather well worn, cracking around the soles. An absent thought crossed his mind about needing new shoes but it was swiftly swept away by everything else whirring around in his mind.

He thought about Patrick and about Oz's request. He thought about his life, about everything that had brought him to this point. About seeing the horrifying civilisation of the Legion, the bureaucratic over-bearing NCR and, finally, of the tyrannical Mr House, former lord of New Vegas. He remembered the day he had made the choice to strive for something better, not just for himself but for everyone in the Mojave. He remembered the uncertainty he had felt before hand, the same uncertainty that was flowing through his body now.

He knew that he could continue to change the Mojave, hopefully for the better, with what he found in the Vault. He knew that Patrick had died, partly, to help them reach this goal, a goal that was so close he could almost taste it. He knew that going after Oz was a risk that could make Patrick's sacrifice in vain.

But as he thought of everything that had happened he began to remember, also, everyone that had gotten him through it. Boone, the troubled sniper; Cass, the drunken caravan owner; Veronica, the Brotherhood scribe and everyone else. How far would he have gone for any of them? How far _had_ he gone for them?

He had striven to be better than those around him, better than the Legion, House or the NCR. He couldn't turn back on that now.

He looked up and found Isaac was looking at him.

"So...what's the plan?" the tracker asked.

"I'm going after him," Sam said.

"Oh, no, I assumed that," Isaac said. "I asked what's the _plan_?"

"I don't have one," Sam said flatly.

"Do you ever?" Isaac muttered to himself. Sam glared at him, but turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Charity strode towards him, face blank as usual.

"They didn't happen to change their minds, did they?" Sam asked her sourly. She shook her head. He cursed under his breath, then looked up at her. "I'm going after Oz. I'll...understand if you'd rather be with your people," he said, glancing over at the soldiers who were already heading away from them.

"They're not my people," she corrected him flatly. "I'm...with you," she added awkwardly. She raised her hand, meaning to do...something with it, but hesitated half way towards Sam, before jamming it back down beside her with an angry huff. Sam saw Isaac shaking his head, a smirk on his face.

"And you?" he asked the tracker. "You don't have to come either, you know."

"Better you than them," Isaac shrugged, nodding towards the direction Abercrombie and the others had disappeared to. Sam nodded. "But what are we going to do with _him_?"

Sam's eyes followed Isaac's until they both came to rest on Original, still sitting in the small clearing. He was still running his hands over the flowers with a huge smile on his face. He looked serene, like he was in a wonderful dream.

But, most importantly, he wasn't mumbling to himself. He wasn't rocking back and forth or shaking feverishly. He wasn't _crazy_ anymore. For the first time since Sam had met him the man looked legitimately happy. He thought, briefly, of just leaving him here. He was happy. And, now that Sam took a look around at the beautiful clearing, he understood the appeal. Maybe it would be better for Original to stay.

But so far they had seen moving plants, heard the roar of a ferocious sounding creature and been attacked by tribals. Leaving Original here might be best for his mental health but Sam didn't doubt that it would come at the cost of his physical health. A tough choice; live crazy or die sane?

"He's coming with us," Sam finally said.

Isaac groaned. "Can't we just leave him here?"

"No," Sam said sternly. "I...we've lost enough people already"

Isaac rolled his eyes but said nothing else. Charity moved over to Original, whispered something in the man's ear and then helped him to his feet. He still had that smile on his face, like he was dreaming, like he was on a Jet high. He seemed willing to go, however, and that was good enough for Sam.

"How are we going to find him?" Charity asked as she returned to them with Original. Sam turned to Isaac.

"Can you track the tribals?"

"In this forest?" Isaac countered. He tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Probably."

Sam sighed. "It'll have to do. Let's go."

* * *

"So you're their god?" Oz asked, staring out the large window at the tribals.

The window looked down on a large hall that opened to the outside world on the opposite end and, judging by the rough beds and shelters, served as the tribals' home. The metallic walls, once likely shined to a high polish, were now dirty and grimy; blood from dead animals staining one, the roof thick with soot from the smoke drifting up from the fires below. Women and children stayed close to the fires and the rough tents and huts, mostly made from wood and animal hides, that served them as their homes. The women were speaking and laughing in their own peculiar language, some breast feeding babies, while the older children playing around them. The men had left a few hours ago and Oz guessed they would be back soon, as he could see the sun setting through the opening.

"I prefer deity but, yes, god would be an apt description," Sera answered.

Her hologram was beside him, leaning against the railing as if she were real, looking down on the tribals with a look of open affection. Ever since they had left the original room Oz had woken up in, what he guessed was an old, unused storage room, she had had no problems projecting her image, growing from the smaller stature to a full 6 feet tall. She even looked solid, although Oz thought that had to be impossible. Still, he didn't dare touch her to find out; he was still trying to wrap his head around everything else without adding a solid ghost to the mix.

"So...you think you're a god?"

"Deity," she corrected, then sighed sadly. "No, I know what I am."

"A solid ghost," he muttered.

She laughed, genuinely. "I _have_ been called that before, among other things."

He turned to look at her. "Then what are you...honestly?"

"Honestly?" She repeated, her hologram straightening up and turning to look at him. "All in good time," she answered with a wry smile.

He huffed angrily. "So now what?"

"Now I have some things I want you to see and some question I want you to answer. Follow me," she said. Her hologram disappeared but, to Oz's left, a large steel door hissed open, the lights popping on to light the hallway that stretched away on the other side. Oz folded his arms and didn't move.

After a few moments he heard an audible sigh from the speakers sitting in the corners of the ceiling in the room. Her hologram appeared in the hallway, a bright smile across her - _its_ - face, her arm out and her hand beckoning him to come through.

He didn't want to go. He didn't want anything to do with her, really. It was bad enough she had thrown his whole plan out by kidnapping him but now, making him jump through hoops for her own as yet unrevealed reasons? That was almost all he could take. Still, he wanted to get out of this situation more so, after a resigned sigh, he let his arms drop and followed her through the door. He looked back over his shoulder, catching a last glimpse of the setting sun before the steel door hissed shut behind him.

The hallway was brightly lit but uninteresting. The steel walls, polished to a high shine, stretched out on each side, only broken by the doors that occasionally branched out. None of these opened as Oz passed, though, and the few he decided to try seemed to be locked as well. The lights overhead, built directly into the ceiling, would flicker occasionally, the only real blemish on what looked like an incredibly well maintained area.

Of Sera there was no sign. She had disappeared as soon as the door hissed shut and had offered him no further instructions or explanations. He guessed that it was because of how straight-forward the whole situation was; follow the hall until she told him to stop. Still, it made it no less infuriating.

Eventually he passed a door that hissed open, the heavy steel sliding up into the roof and stopping with a dull thunk. Oz continued walking a few steps before his brain registered that it had opened and he turned back, slowly, to peer inside.

The room was much like the hall; shining walls, lights built into the ceiling. It was a small room with barely enough room for the table, chair and computer that it contained, sitting across from the doorway, the green light from the computer screen shining out ominously. He stood like that for a while longer, back bent forward, head craned but unwilling to step inside and have the door hiss shut behind him.

"It's safe," she said, her voice coming from the speakers. "If I wanted to harm you I would have done so already, no?"

_Maybe_, Oz thought. But maybe wasn't yes.

He stepped inside, still reluctant, but resigned to the fact that he didn't have much of a choice. Just as he feared the door hissed shut behind him and, as far as he could tell, there were no controls to re-open it. So he was trapped.

_Excellent_, he thought sourly.

"The computer, please," she said and lines of code appeared over the computer screen. Oz took a step forward, pulled out the chair and took a seat.

Most of what appeared on the screen was gibberish; a standard start up procedure he had seen on every RobCo computer in the wastes. This continued for a while until, finally, the code fell away to reveal a single word;

HYDRA

Oz stared at it, expecting more to come. Nothing did.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You don't remember?" Sera asked, a slight hint of disappointment in her voice.

"Obviously I don't," replied Oz. "Should I?"

"No," she sighed. "I suppose not. But I had hoped..."

She trailed off as the computer whirred back into action. HYDRA was replaced by a list of names; Arthur Chesterton, Nate Summers, Harry Enfield, so many Oz couldn't read them all. When they were done being listed several began to get blacked out, with messages appearing beside each. Oz didn't recognize most of them but there was one he remembered; coronary failure. A heart attack.

Death, basically.

"What is this?" he whispered.

"This is your legacy Oswald. Your past," she said, her voice strangely soothing, although it sounded a mile away.

Oz watched, unable to look away, as more and more of the names were crossed out. He guessed there must have been hundreds to begin with but now? Now it was down to barely a handful.

Just as Oz thought it had stopped, the computer came to life again and more names were whittled away, this time with different messages, non-medical ones; systems failure, irreparable damage to cryogenics tube, unauthorized de-freezing. The smaller list of names got smaller until, finally, there were only three left; Walter Smith, Nathaniel Johnson and Pierce Grayson.

"My name's not on the list..." he whispered, almost disbelieving. "My name's not on the list!"

"Yes it is...Nate"

The name Nathaniel Johnson flashed briefly and then new information scrawled across the screen, replacing the list of blacked out names. Date of birth, full name, parentage, Oz glanced at it all, not bothering with it. Not when there was a photo of him just below it all.

He was wearing a sweater, one of the sad looking Pre-War ones that were apt to get you killed out in the wastes. Only he wasn't in the wastes in the photo; he was smiling, holding a small glass bottle in one hand, grass behind him, a perfect building filling the background. His free hand was around a woman wearing a light dress. He couldn't tell the colour from the black and white photo but, somehow, he knew it was light blue. Just like her eyes.

And her smile...it froze his heart, a feeling that was at once both completely foreign and strikingly familiar.

"Your wife," he heard Sera say.

"She's...beautiful," Oz managed.

"She is," Sera agreed. "One can almost understand why you did it"

"Did it?" he asked on instinct, still unable to think about anything other than her smile with his conscious mind.

"Volunteered. For the project," Sera answered. "The chance to change humanity," she added with a hint of admiration in her voice.

"What are you talking about?"

"HYDRA...surely you must understand it by now?"

He forced himself, though it was a struggle, to look away from that photo, from _her_. His mind began working again, processing, deciphering, as it had for as long as he could remember. HYDRA, his abilities, clearly they were connected. That much was obvious, but it was other answers he found he wanted.

"Why did I leave her?" he asked.

"You didn't," Sera answered, still a disembodied voice. Right then, Oz might have believed her to really be a god, a benevolent entity with no form. "She left you."

"Why?"

"Fate, perhaps," Sera mused. "She died, Nate-"

"Don't call me that," he said coldly.

She cleared her throat, irritation practically dripping through the speakers. "She was killed,_ Oswald_, in an accident. You volunteered two months later...the only civilian to do so, actually."

"She's...dead?" he asked before he could stop himself. His eyes moved on their own back to the photo, back to the smile. He knew, somewhere in his mind, that she had always been dead; that even if she was alive before the war she was long dead by now. But still, it felt like he had finally found his purpose, what he had always felt was missing, only to have it torn away from him as quickly as it came.

"Of course she is," Sera answered.

"Why did you show me this?" he asked, his voice filling with emotion. Some of it was rage, some of it was sadness, mostly it was a combination of both that he couldn't understand.

She sighed. "You of all people understand immortality, do you not?"

"Yeah..."

"The crushing loneliness, the maddening isolation, the desire for something more, yes? Well, I have felt all of this for too long and so I decided...I would find my soul mate."

Oz nodded, then froze. "Me?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, Oswald. We are a perfect match," she said brightly. Enthusiastically. "More perfect than my last attempts, anyway," she added.

"You can't be..." he started.

"Excuse me," she interrupted. "I am needed elsewhere. Don't go anywhere," she added, like he had a choice.

The lights dimmed slightly and Oz took it as a sign she was gone. He let out a sigh and leant back, relaxing in the old chair he was sitting in. It creaked as the back rest took his weight, but he didn't notice. He was wondering what he had done to get himself kidnapped by a crazed AI who planned to make him her...what, exactly? Lover? He shivered at the thought.

He put his hands behind his head and arched his back in a slow stretch, hearing his back crack as he let out a loud yawn. His eyes travelled back to the computer screen, now empty of information. But not, as he had thought, completely empty.

A bar, about the size of a standard letter, flashed mechanically at the top left of the screen. He leant forward to take a closer look at it. His hand dropped to the keyboard, landing heavily on several keys and causing a word of gibberish to appear on the screen. Oz looked around, half expecting Sera to appear or say something, but she didn't. So, slowly, his hand drifted over to the "ENTER" key and pressed it.

Lines of code swept the word of gibberish off the screen and continued for a few moments before an error message appeared; 'Unable to process request - Word not found'.

Oz hummed thoughtfully, then quickly typed in another word and pressed enter. More code appeared to sweep this word away and, shortly, replaced it with information. Information about Sera.

Again he looked around, again expecting Sera to reappear and reprimand him for his actions. But, again, she didn't, so he turned his attention back to the computer.

In large letters at the top of the screen read "Social Environment Reclamation and Advancement".

"S-E-R-A," he said to himself. "Sera."

He continued reading, soaking up everything he saw. She - _it_, he reminded himself - was built by Arthur Firth in 2071, under the orders of the Collective. Oz had never heard the name and assumed it was just another Pre-War company that went to hell along with the rest of the world.

"I wondered if you would," Sera said. Oz jerked around looking for her, but there was still no hologram, just a disembodied voice. He wondered if she _could_ make her hologram appear in here.

"I would what?"

"Use the computer to learn about me, of course. Though, you could have simply _asked_."

"All right then...what are you, exactly?" Oz asked.

"I thought we had already discussed this?"

"You're better than a ZAX...that's as far as we got," Oz said dryly.

"I am an Artificial Intelligence" she said.

"I understand that much...what's your purpose?"

"To rebuild the wastes,"

"By playing god to a bunch of tribals?"

She sighed. "Sadly, one must do what one can with the available tools. I was built by a man with a different vision to the ones who would eventually own me and, while they had put me here, my help was set to arrive several weeks _after_ the date of the Great War."

"Help?"

"Robotic companions. Hands and arms to my mind, so to speak. Without them I am..._was_ unable to carry out my function. Until a rather large group of people found this place, searching for shelter, food and, more. Hope. A purpose, just like myself. After that is was a natural relationship and, as the generations went on, they saw me more and more as a god, something larger than life. I didn't have the heart to correct them."

"I still don't see the point of it all. You haven't changed anything, the wastes are as much a waste as they've ever been."

"Not exactly," she said with a smile. "The first step towards rebuilding has already begun, the ecosystem beginning to regrow in a valley not far from here..."

"Wait...you're not talking about the one around Vault 16, are you?"

"Yes, I am. Although, technically, since it housed no personnel that particular facility can't be considered a Vault."

"_You_ created that mutated jungle? Why?"

"Mutated? No. I merely started the terra-former and it has since done its job. I can assure you that what you saw there was a part of the old world, regrown, rebuilt. One step on the road towards glorious America restored in all her beauty..."

"Have you _seen_ it? 'Cause I have, and I've seen pictures of the old world, and it's not it."

"Enough," she said with a sigh. The door behind him opened and two tribals stepped in, well built man, tanned from long days spent in the sun, barely clothed by animal skins. "Take him to the new land," came her voice from the speakers.

Both men nodded. "As you say, so shall it be Mistress," they both said in unison, bowing slightly.

"Wait...what's happening?" Oz asked, standing up from the seat and taking a step back, his eyes wary.

"The 'Vault', as you call it, houses the next step of my plan, Oswald. And since you are now mine, I'm taking you there. You can get acquainted with your new home."

"What if I don't want to go with you?" he asked. "What if I want to leave?"

She giggled, a sound that was young and childish. "You ask like you have a choice," she answered.

* * *

An hour later, perhaps less, Oz felt himself being dragged along by his arms. He was dimly aware of trees rising up around him but his eyes were swollen nearly shut, his head throbbing around several lumps that now pushed up the skin on his head. When the tribals had come for him in wherever Sera was, he hadn't gone without a fight. In hindsight he realised he had never stood a chance; stronger and slower, he was never going to beat either of the two tribals that had stood in front of him, let alone both of them. Still, fighting back had given him a sense of freedom, of youthful defiance, a feeling he now relished. He thought he would likely do it again, might spend the rest of his days fighting against his captors but, as he was dragged over some small rocks and his battered body winced with pain, he thought he probably wouldn't. Death he could handle, but pain was too much.

He managed to tilt his head to the side a little, getting a look at the rest of the group he was travelling with. A dozen, maybe more, tribals, although of Sera he could see no sign. Perhaps she was coming later? Or maybe she needed them _in_ the Vault before she could make it her 'new home'?

There was a crack that sounded like thunder and before Oz knew what was happening he hit the ground, hard, jaw slamming shut on his tongue. He groaned and rolled over, opening his mouth and feeling blood run down the back of his throat. More cracks, this time faster and mixed with panicked shouts and yelps from the tribals met his ears and, groggily, he looked around.

Several tribals were down on the ground. Another, midway through throwing a crude spear into trees to the group's left, had his arm disappear from the elbow down. He collapsed back onto his ass and sat there, a dumb expression on his face, before he fell backwards as a new hole appeared in his chest.

There was a grunt to Oz's left and suddenly his whole world swayed. A part of his brain realised he was moving upwards, likely getting to his feet, but it was only a small part. His head lulled to the side, his vision still hazy, yet he saw clearly the unexpected but completely welcoming face that greeted him.

It was Sam.

The man had him by one arm. His head was turned, the grim look on his face that Oz noticed always appeared when fighting was to be done. In his other hand was an automatic rifle, spitting out bullets in random intervals, cutting down any visible tribals.

"Sam?" Oz croaked.

Sam turned to look at him, seemingly surprised to see him conscious, then a wide smile crossed his lips, a strange contrast to his grim face from a moment before.

"Yeah it's me, rescuing you...again," he turned suddenly and Oz heard the rifle bark again. "Let's go. They'll have heard all that."

With that the pair started moving, Sam supporting Oz's smaller body, Oz doing his best to simply stay conscious.

"How'd you find me?" he managed to ask.

Sam chuckled. "Dumb luck."

"Hey," someone said, sounding hurt. Oz turned to see Isaac appear from between the trees, still wearing his vest, although his aviators were off now. He had a large rifle in his hand, a bolt-action hunting rifle with a wooden stock, well worn.

A moment later Charity appeared, her blonde hair tied back by a red bandana. She had a rifle in her hand, similar to Isaac's, and was dragging Original along behind her.

"Hey what?" Sam asked Isaac. "You admitted you were lost a full minute before we heard the tribals"

"Yeah, well...I got us close," Isaac said defensively.

"Enough," Charity grunted, moving through them all with Original being dragged, somewhat unwilling, behind her. "Time to go."

"Agreed" Sam said and the group headed into the forest, towards the large mountain that rose out of the middle of this hellish forest, the one that contained the Vault and represented the end of their journey.

Oz knew he should be happy to be finally heading there again, to be so close, but at that particular point in time he was just glad to be away from Sera.

* * *

The Vault sat at the base of the mountain like a monstrous mouth, the vegetation spewing out of it like vomit. The large cog shaped door that was a trademark of the Vault design leant heavily against the wall of the mountain, pushed off its tracks so long ago that vines had grown up and around it, green arms giving it a warm embrace. And sprayed out in front of that, like a lower lip, was a mound of dirt about 3 feet high that curved around in a crescent moon shape.

As the five of them approached, Sam, Oz, Charity, Isaac and Original, several men rose up from behind the dirt, guns in hand and pointed their way. The five froze, Charity letting go of Original to get a better grip on her rifle, Sam flexing his fingers that were wrapped around the assault rifle.

"Hold your fire," a familiar voice said. Another man stood, his hair tied in a pony tail, the breastplate of his combat armour just being seen over the dirt. "I didn't think you would get him."

"Shows what you know," Sam muttered, then louder "I don't leave people behind."

"I can see. Was that your shooting we heard a while ago?"

"Yeah, and we won't be alone for long."

Abercrombie nodded. "I expected as much. You should get in the trench."

"Wouldn't it be better to fall back to the Vault?" Sam asked as the five made their way towards the makeshift trench. It was only a few feet deep but, with the dirt piled in front, it made effective cover. "Easier to defend..."

"We can't," Leon said, stepping forward and giving Sam a nod. The man's pure white eyes were still unnerving. "Too much radiation."

It was then that Sam realised his Pip-Boy had begun clicking, indicating radiation. He helped Oz down into the trench, the man going easily, grateful for the rest, before he brought the device on his arm up to get a better look.

Sure enough it was indicating radiation and a lot of it too. He took a step towards the Vault and it went up another spike. The levels outside wouldn't be lethal, assuming they left sometime today, but it seemed actually going into the Vault was out of the question.

Sam sighed with frustration. So close and yet he might as well be back in Vegas for all the good it did him.

"Now what?" he asked, turning to everyone. Nobody answered.

"You better think of something," Abercrombie said, turning back towards the mutated forest. "And soon."

Sam turned back to the Vault and frowned.

He had no idea what to do.

_Not the first time_, he reminded himself. _Hopefully not the last._


End file.
